Sword of Power
by elle-nora
Summary: Now complete! An occasional series of stories concerning the Sword of Power... Excalibur... and the immortals whose lives it has touched... among them Methos... and Darius.
1. Sword of Destiny

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Highlander: _Sword of Power!_

A story cycle focusing on the sword of the ancients, and its effects on the immortals of **Highlander **who have wielded it over the centuries. This grouping of stories takes place within the **Highlander** universe as conceived by this author in her Eleanor saga stories.

The actual events of these stories are alluded to in my other fan stories, but generally are seen through other eyes, with other considerations. While the events are alluded to... the full understanding of what happened takes both sets of stories.

These were mainly stories which did not fit well into the other ones, because of their viewpoint, and which tended to slow and otherwise disrupt those stories. Here, they can be read as background and additional information.

As always, I don't own **Highlander** or its canon characters. All others are original with me, other than the traditional figures, who are a part of the Legend of King Arthur in the first two stories. Nor is Avalon my invention, although the way it is presented in some of the stories is.

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Part One: Sword of Destiny

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Come by the hills to the land

where legend remains

Where stories of old stir the heart

and may yet come again.

~traditional~

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The Island of Britain

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ca 490 c.e.

As O ro' dred stared out over the gathering crowd of mortals... he had an uneasy feeling. The place was right... the time... not quite... but some of the faces of the men gathering were ones he always saw with his blasted right eye... the one turned inward through which he saw always the moment of his death... the end of his journey. And for the first time in thirty-five hundred years... it was not his death he was seeking.

He handed his staff to Nin who settled on the ground next to him... her dark eyes carefully surveying the crowd. He'd have to talk with her later... remind her that when the moment came... she was not to interfere.

The grumbling of the assembly grew. Already O ro' dred could hear the arguments and the accusations as one faction played off another. Everything was going wrong!

"Men of Britain!" he finally called out in a loud voice. For a moment no one noticed... then gradually the arguing ceased, and the barons and petty kings and all the assembly turned toward the old man with the blasted eye expectantly. O ro' dred took a deep breath... he did not like speaking in public... he much preferred staying out of people's notice and just performing the task the Lady had long ago given 

him... finding the newborn immortals and telling them the rules... preparing them for their future. "Men of Britain... your king is dead... You must select a new one... one whose rule will unite all of you... one who will not favor one clan over another... one who will reign with the wisdom of the ages!"

The assembly sent up a great cheer!

"How, mighty Merlin, do we choose this king!" one of the petty kings roared. "How do we select one from among us to rule us... to unite us as a force against the invading Saxons!" The crowd began to grumble once more. Too many of them had lost family... livestock... land to the Saxon hordes that had begun to settle like lice on their shores!

O ro' dred shook his head at the name they had hung on him... It was a corruption of the name Nin often called him... but in this time and in this place he had decided to go with the name the people here had given him... Maybe it had something to do with the black bird that followed the immortal pair. Nin had made a pet of it and while it was not a merlin... it was black like one. In Viking lands... the immortal pair were sometimes mistaken for the wandering god Odin and his wife Frigga or sometimes Freya... Even now that bird came to a rest on her outstretched arm and cawed as she stroked its feathers.

The cries from the assembly rose and then faded as O ro' dred once more raised his arms. "I must consult the bones. I will tell you all when the time is right." O ro' dred turned from the crowd and reclaimed his staff from Nin. He winked at her and the two of them left the center of the Giant's Dance and retreated to their fire. None dared follow them.

He flung himself on one of the rocks about the fire and shook his head. He flicked his fingers at Nin in her silent tongue. "How did we get ourselves into this?"

Nin grinned and her gnarled brown fingers moved swiftly in reply, "How should I know... I was just following your lead."

"Well toss some bones and we'll pretend to read them while they are waiting."

Nin gathered up a handful of bones and tossed them with a shrug at O ro' dred's feet. He shook his head... he saw nothing but bones laying in the dirt... but he stroked the long white beard and rubbed his balding head. This entire situation was getting out of hand... and yet... he sobered at the thought... he was certain his death was here... and so he would play this out.

But he would be sad to lose Nin... he'd only found her in the last hundred years... he should have come to this land long ago... then he'd have had time to really be with her... as it was... he had to treasure what they did have.

He'd found her here among the standing stones of the Giant's Dance one midsummer's eve... sitting in the center of the great circle... slicing her arms and wailing a great cry... an immortal woman.

Under her matted brown hair her dark eyes glittered in her round face. She seemed a mature woman... and there were some strands of gray in her hair. She was not so tall as many he had seen, and she was dressed in coarse cloth and furs. On her back was a leather harness that still held a long knife... sister to the one she was using on herself that day.

With a strangled cry, she leapt up at his approach and drew the other knife... facing him in a stance of combat... both knives flicked about her in the moonlight. He had no fear of her. He knew the face of his killer... he knew the weapon... he knew the moment... and this was not the time of his death.

Nin waited for his attack. He opened his arms with a smile and shrugged. Then he readied his staff in case she attacked anyway. But she didn't... he hadn't really expected her to. She looked him over suspiciously and then re-seated herself in the center of the stone circle and began her keening and wailing once more.

O ro' dred had sat on a nearby fallen stone and watched her for what seemed like hours. Finally, he rose and approached her slowly once more. She'd gazed at him questioningly... he'd motioned for her to follow him, and then he'd walked away. Nin had followed... and was following still.

It had taken time... but he'd learned the silent tongue she used... she could understand the speech of others... she just preferred not to use it. Except when she needed to call his name or get someone's attention. Her voice slaughtered his name so that it became more Or-won... Over the years... some had also called him Owain in this land. Some had thought him a traveling bard for some reason and he had often amused the children of the villages he had visited with old tales of their long-forgotten history

If he'd thought her a young one when he first met her... he had realized very quickly that she was not. She knew about the game and the need to take heads to survive. Indeed, he had seen her fight on more than one occasion. She was skilled. She had no style... but with those knives... she threw everything into her movements like some kind of whirling demon. And... she seemed to have no conscience about what she had to do. He worried that when the time came for his death... she'd not stand idly by. Strange... in that moment of his death that he always saw... she was nowhere to be seen. Yet she never left his side.

It had been with some surprise that he had discovered that he loved her. His mortal wife had died thirty-five hundred years ago. So long ago he no longer remembered her name or her face. He had been an old man when he'd saved the life of the Lady's child and been reborn. She had taken pity on him and told him what she knew of immortality and asked him to help her spread the word among the others reborn into new life.

Too many were killing and dying... she wanted to stop or at least slow the process. She somehow felt that the killing needed to end. She wasn't certain how to accomplish that... but she was no longer willing to stand on the sidelines and watch it happen. Would he help her? He'd said yes! And then he'd asked to know when he would die. So she had given him that one vision... a piece of herself... of her great power... her own quickening. With that power... his right eye was blasted and turned inward to see forever the moment of his death. He could travel the world without fear... knowing he was untouchable until the moment came. Now... it was coming... and now... he wanted more time. And that surprised him. But he would meet his death when it arrived. 

He stared at the bones once more and shook his head... whatever should he tell the assembly? He was not a prophet... he was not a priest... or a holy man... he was just a simple potter who had lived a long life. Well... something would occur to him... perhaps tomorrow.

He gestured to Nin. She came to him with a smile and clasped him tightly... then she kissed him nibbling slightly at the edges of his beard where it met his lips. He stroked her hair. Yes... tomorrow was another day... tonight belonged to Nin.

In the gray dawn... Nin rose to stir the fire and make meal cakes to cook on the hot stones. She cut some strips of meat from the cured oxen shoulder and soaked the meat in hot water while the meal cakes cooked. She was worried about O 'ro dred. He seemed very pre-occupied with this place and this time. True it was here that they had first met. But even she knew to keep moving.

She had stayed too long in her home in the north... on the island. She'd outlived all her people. Even the babes she had helped to birth were old and gray and in their graves while she still lived. The tribe had shrunk to a small group... and then to a few families... finally one extended family... and then the last of them had simply died. There had been no great invasion... no great calamity... their numbers had simply dwindled over the years until she had burned and scattered the last of their ashes and she had been alone.

In that long lonely time... she had replayed the events of her life. All had seemed normal in the old land that she only vaguely recalled. She had grown to womanhood and married. She'd had no children... but her husband had not cared. With the tribe they had crossed the northern sea to the coast with its warm breezes and temperate climate... escaping the frozen wilderness of their old home.

On the journey... the _carraugh_ she was in had sunk. She'd gone down into the green darkness. The next she knew... she'd been cast out of the darkness and was choking out water on the rocky shore of the new land. Her people were glad she still lived. Her husband was dead... so she had taken another. And they had built a new community on the shores of the northern sea.

They'd found the strange standing stones there... last remnant of an older people... or perhaps of the gods themselves. Nin's people were fisher-folk... and lived simple lives. Nin's second husband grew old and died and she had taken a third... then a fourth... then a fifth... she'd lost track after a while. She'd simply lived... childless but well regarded in the tribe as an old wise woman... a healer and a birther of babies. And then the last of her people had died.

In later years... new people came. She'd settled with them but when she lived too long they'd cast her out so she had crossed the sea and come to the larger island. She'd learned not to stay too long. So she traveled... doing what she'd always done... offered healing herbs and birthed the babies... until the other found her.

He'd stared at her with hate and come at her with a great blade. She'd avoided his blow and somehow she'd killed him. But he was like her and woke up. So she'd chopped his head off with his own blade. That was when the knowledge of their shared past had come to her. She was immortal and would live forever... but she must kill the others of her kind when she found them. Or... they would kill her. 

She had developed her own weapons... more suitable than a great hacking blade. She'd traveled... she'd watched... she'd killed all who came at her... until O ro' dred. She'd never considered that her kind could co-exist. So she had followed him... protected him... he carried no blade... taught him her own language... come to love him... shared his bed. She'd taken him to _skara brae_ to see her own standing stones. One hundred years was but a beginning she felt. Together they would travel for all time... and her people would always be remembered!

She glanced over at him... already stirring. She smiled... she would protect him... she would remain forever at his side. He had brought life back into her dead soul. He had reminded her of what it was to love someone. His eyes were open... and with that one dark eye... he gazed warmly at her. Breakfast was ready.

* * *

The storm seemed to have come up out of nowhere. Lightning criss-crossed the sky and a cold wind blew the rain in pelting sheets about them! Still O ro' dred stood at the center stone leaning on his staff as if in silent prayer. All about him the Britons huddled fearfully. When the storm had begun, O ro' dred had taken the opportunity to claim that the gods were speaking to him through the power of the storm. In reality... he hoped to use the ferocity of the storm to tell the men to go home to their families... to strive against their enemies and to await the day when one of their own would lead them in victory against their enemies. It was as good an out as he could come up with.

Yet even as the storm intensified... O ro' dred began to feel the old and powerful sensation that told him to expect the Lady... Aja... voice of the gods to those who had once dwelt in the Old World. Already the rain had lessened and the cold wind blew the clouds away so that the full moon began to show. Aja's once dark hair was more silver than black and blew about her head in a great cloud and her green eyes almost seemed to glow. Her billowing garments of black and silver added to the mystery of her appearance.

She came then... from the nearby lake... bearing before her a great sword. O ro' dred saw the Britons bow before her as she passed. Their legends spoke of the Lady of the Lake... a witch of enormous power in this place. He shook his head and grinned slightly. He had never understood how she seemed to be able to control the weather for her entrances... perhaps she didn't and just knew how to predict when it would be most favorable for her to make an appearance. 

He hadn't expected her here... but he was glad she was. Now, at least, he was off the hook to come up with something for the council.

As Aja came closer, O ro' dred's grin turned solemn. He knew that blade! It was the one he had always seen... the one that was destined to take his head. He glanced about him... no not yet... the immortal who would wield that blade was not yet here. The weather was not right... but soon... soon.

The Lady of the Lake entered the clearing to stand beside O ro' dred. She turned and stared out over the assembled Britons speaking in a loud voice. "I have heard your cries. Thus do I bring a sign by which you may know he who can unite your people and lead you into an enlightened future!" She turned and thrust the sword into the great altar stone. Lightning flashed once more and the sword was held deep within the rock. Aja winked at O ro' dred, then turned and strode away.

Beside him, Nin gave a great cry and leapt after the Lady, grabbing at her arm. The Lady calmly turned at the touch and regarded the silent immortal. Nin's fingers flicked frantically in her silent tongue. "I wish him to live!"

Aja glanced back at O ro' dred. She nodded thoughtfully. Then her fingers flicked in answer, "So do I... but this is now out of my hands, child." Then she lightly touched Nin's face. She leaned close to her and whispered into her ear, "Stay by his side... be there with him. It is all you can do." Then the Lady walked purposely back toward the Lake and vanished into the gathering fog at the shoreline.

* * *

The weeks had passed. Word was spread that whoever drew the sword from the stone would be the leader that they sought. So far... no one had been able to do that.

Already, many had come... and many had failed. O ro' dred stood daily beside the altar stone... awaiting his fate. Still, the immortal he sought did not come. A few had shown up to try their hand... but they were no more successful than the mortals had been. And the crowds grew.

The weeks lengthened into months... still the sword remained firmly in the stone. O ro' dred chuckled... Aja had made certain that only a very old and powerful immortal could remove that sword. The old potter had considered moving it himself... he was at this time likely the eldest of the ones who remained... but he was no king... no warrior... no learned leader. He was a potter who had long sought his own death. Now that death would come and he would be here to meet it. But he was in no hurry.

Nin remained quietly at his side. At night her fingers flicked in her silent tongue, begging him to leave with her. To remain in this place was foolishness itself. O ro' dred tried to calm her. This was what was foretold... if he left... if he tried to run... it would be the worse for him. He needed to remain. He would face his death and she would make no move against his killer. Nin wept... but so promised.

By night she lay in his arms and held to him tightly. By day she sat by his side and watched the faces of those who came. Each time an immortal came forward to pull the sword... she held her breath... letting it out only when the sword remained held in the grip of the stone.

The seasons turned and winter made way for spring. With spring, a new crop of men from across the sea arrived to try their hand at the sword. Among them came Methos.

Methos had no real interest in any of this... merely curiosity. As he traveled along the road to the Giant's Dance, he kept his senses alert. There were several immortals about... but all the ones he'd seen appeared to be willing to keep a low profile in this mass of humanity. They nodded in passing... each attempting to remember the other's face for a future meeting. Some few had evidently decided to band together and await the new king... if king he truly was... and carve a nice piece of the land out for themselves. Others apparently wanted to save this land from the invaders and were truly disappointed they were not chosen to do so.

The closer he came to the Giant's Dance... the larger and more boisterous the crowds became. Methos listened to the tales told about the mysterious sword. Already he'd heard seven different versions of how the sword had appeared here. All versions had one thing in common... whoever could draw the sword... was king... the _ard rei_ for whom the populace waited.

* * *

Methos stirred the fire with a long stick. Around it he could see the party of men he'd been traveling with gesture and joke among themselves nervously. Tomorrow... their group should be one of the ones that would approach the sword. Perhaps one of them would be _ard rei_. Methos had fallen in with them more from a desire to seem unimportant and to seem to be attached to a group of mortals than because of any desire to get to know them. So far it had worked.

"And just what kind of king would you be?" Gaius Marcellus asked his young attendant.

"Oh..." the red-haired boy replied, "a good 'un I'd be." The boy was just into his fourteenth summer and was still awkwardness personified. He was all arms and legs, which always seemed to get in his way no matter what he needed to do. He fell over his own feet... he seemed to hit his head on every overhanging branch... and every time he tried to handle something... he either broke it or dropped it. In short, young Artos had become the joke among this small band of travelers.

"And just what is it that you would do to be a good one lad?" Verus Turtullus pressed.

The boy shrugged, "Well... I'd have about me the smartest, strongest, most able people... and they'd help me to be good."

There was an earnestness and _naiveté_ in the boy that amused Methos. Over the centuries he'd known many young rulers like this lad... boys thrust into the eye of power who trusted those around them to somehow just know what was right. Usually, those around the young rulers had their own agendas and someone suffered. Either the people under their rule suffered... or the young ruler met an untimely death. Thankfully, the chances of this boy being the next King of the Britons were remote.

"And how would you determine the fitness of those around you?" Methos inserted into the conversation. This question seemed to stifle the good-hearted levity of the older men regarding the boy's statements. They nodded, as if it were something they themselves might have to determine if the sword was theirs.

Young Artos lowered his head and creased his brow in deep thought. Finally, with a shake of his red hair and a laugh, he said, "They'd have to swear before me and before God Almighty that they would be honest and true men!"

A laugh sounded from the men about the campfire. "And you are certain only an honest man would tell the truth!" Verus finally said.

"Oh... aye!" said young Artos. "A liar would lie about it. But a liar cannot tell the truth. And I would ask many questions to which I knew the answers so I would know if the man was to be trusted." The boy folded his arms over his chest and nodded as if that took care of everything.

"Well, my young foster brother... 'tis best we go before you tomorrow... Lest you pull the sword out before we have a chance." Once more the men laughed. Gaius reached out and tousled the boy's hair. He was fond of the lad... there was never any question about that... but he feared what might happen to this simple and trusting boy once he became a man.

Methos smiled in the darkness and chuckled to himself. If this boy pulled the sword out... he hoped the boy's friends would stay by his side and give him good advice. Otherwise... Britain would be in for a dark time.

The morning dawned misty and a thick fog hung over the nearby lake. The ground had seen so much rain that it seemed more a morass of mud than the sacred ground of the ancient standing stones. Everything was so damp that many wondered how it was that the stones remained upright. The men in the line moved slowly forward, slipping over the smaller stones in the mud.

A great shout went up as each man tried his hand at the sword. A great groan followed quickly on its heels as another man failed to remove the sword from its resting place in the altar stone where once was said men had lost their heads in ancient and forgotten rituals.

Already, a group grumbling about having been overlooked and rejected by the sword were stirring up the others... trying to say it was all trickery. The sword's removal from the stone could not be accomplished by simple strength of arm... but by he who controlled the land. Their side was gaining strength as more and more men strained to pull the sword out of the stone and failed. Word began circulating that it was not a stone... but an anvil itself that held the sword... they had been forged as one and no power under God would ever separate them.

As the group that Methos was in came close to the Giants' Dance... Methos could feel the presence of an immortal. His hooded eyes flicked from side to side as he attempted to determine from where this new sense emanated. He tried to give no sign that it was he the other might be attempting to locate. His body language betrayed no sign of recognition or alarm. Finally, Methos' eyes fell on the bearded old man near the stone... an old man who stared piercingly at him with one good eye. Near the man... a woman also looked up and stared at Methos. She rose to stand protectively at the old man's side.

"Ah..." Methos heard Verus mutter. "The Merlin and his witch, Nimue await us."

As he awaited his turn... Methos eyed the immortal pair and wondered what their part in this farce was. The old man was bald and had a long white beard. His right eye was white... apparently blind... the other was dark but piercing. He wore long undistinguished robes and held in his hands a great staff. The woman was another matter entirely. She seemed some wild and dangerous thing out of the depths of time. Her brown hair was a matted tangle about her head. Her skin was weathered and browned by the sun and her clothes were made of cloth of a simple and rough weave... about her shoulders was an animal skin worn as a cape. She glared at him and bared her teeth. The old man turned and said something to her. She looked up at him and nodded. Then she sat down near him once more and bowed her head... but even then... her eyes never left the approaching immortal.

Methos could not sense anything old or powerful about these two... but he felt they were... more from their dress and their demeanor than from any outward sign. The Merlin seemed to regard him with sadness but acceptance and the woman... Methos could tell she was ready to leap from the old man's side and engage Methos in combat right then and there... but it did not appear that a challenge was what the Merlin wished. So Nimue sat and stared and gave Methos hate-filled looks.

If he could have left... Methos would have. As it was... he was in line to try the sword. He'd have to go through the motions and then leave... and leave in a hurry! He did not feel safe going to stand so near the immortal pair... yet there were mortals about and this place was surely holy ground... surely they were all safe here.

Ahead of him... Gaius strained at the sword without effect. He finally relinquished his turn and dejectedly turned away... standing at the edge of the circle for the others in his group. This expedition had been his idea... he had felt that the new king must be one of the Roman-Briton landowners of the south. He had talked it up... this was the time that they would reclaim the lost glory of Rome and help the Britons... their mothers' brothers to move forward into a glorious and bright future... a re-forging of the glory of Rome. His friends and neighbors had enthusiastically agreed... Now he was cast aside... he was not the _ard rei _of the Britons. After Gaius came Verus... but he had no luck either.

Finally it was Methos' turn. Behind him, the boy Artos gave him a slight push. "Hurry up, it'll be my turn next!" Methos eyed the immortal pair and came forward. When he saw the sword... he gasped. He knew that sword... Once an ancient had offered it to him... a mad immortal who had dared him to take his head and seize the sword as his own... He had refused and left. Later he had seen it again... several times... in the hands of the immortal warrior he knew as Darius... the one who himself had killed another ancient and then turned his back on the way of the warrior. Darius had also offered that sword to Methos once. But Methos had thought that Darius still had it. How had it come to be here? 

Methos shook his head. He'd held that sword. He'd practiced with that sword. That sword almost seemed to speak... whispering of power and glory. But Methos knew the sword lied. It wanted only blood. Immortal blood! Mortal blood! It did not matter! In the hands of an immortal... it could be a dangerous weapon. He'd never understood how Darius had refrained from falling victim to its siren song.

The old man motioned Methos forward. In his eye was an acceptance of what was to come... and a sadness that it had come. At his feet... the wild looking immortal woman held her breath. The old man dropped one hand to her shoulder and patted it gently. She looked up at him then closed her eyes and nodded.

Methos stepped forward and slowly put one hand on the pommel of the great sword.

At once the seductive whisper began. Visions of pulling forth the sword and using it to lead men to glory filled his mind. He did not want this... he wanted only to be left alone... he wanted only to survive in relative peace and quiet.

The sword leaped within the stone and moved at his touch... He could pull it out... all he had to do was clasp it firmly and withdraw it as easily as if it were in a scabbard. He hesitated. He glanced toward the Merlin. The man knew! It was all there in his eye. If Methos drew forth that sword... the old man would die... and he awaited that moment.

Methos closed his eyes and centered his thoughts on the calm center of his being... he was Methos... he was himself... he was no one's to command... he was no one's to use.

The voice of the sword at last was silent. About him the wind rose sharply and seemed to blow from the nearby lake. He took a deep breath and released his grip on the sword. He met the Merlin's eye and gazed at him evenly. "_Not today... old man,_" he thought, "_Not today!_"

Methos stepped away from the sword, nodded at the immortals, and turned his back on them and the sword as he strode hurriedly away... eager to be free of this time and this place. Eager to be out of the public eye... eager to hide once more behind the facade of ordinariness. If he claimed the sword... the sword would claim him. He feared that Death would ride once more across the face of the known world!

He'd gone only about fifty feet when he heard steps and felt an immortal close in. He turned and saw the woman come to stand beside him. Her dark eyes regarded him evenly... then she motioned with her hands in some sort of silent language he did not know.

"I'm sorry," he began, "I can't follow..."

"'ank... oo." she managed to say. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She smiled and nodded her head. Then she clasped both her hands together and a small smile played about her mouth.

Near the altar stone a great cry went up... and then a rousing cheer. Methos glanced back and saw Artos waving the sword about his head. He'd been the next one after Methos... and had pulled the loosened sword from the stone to the acclaim of the crowd and the amazement of Gaius and Verus and their friends.

At Artos' side... the old Merlin clasped the boy's shoulder and raising his staff... encouraged the crowd to even greater cries. But it was at Methos that the old man looked with an accusing glance.

The celebration went on for hours. Unable to make any headway in leaving... Methos had settled down at a campfire and basically tried to stay out of everyone's way. Now that they had a king... the council of leaders were attempting to put together a government. The boy-king's friends were trying to protect and guide Artos in these opening moves. Already... there was a huge rift developing between those that supported the will of the gods and those whose desire for power had been thwarted. Methos figured the land was in for a bloody civil war.

At length he felt an immortal presence and looked up to see the old man and the woman approaching his campfire. The old man motioned to ask for a seat and Methos inclined his head in agreement.

"Well," the old man said, "You certainly messed things up today!"

"How's that?" Methos replied.

"You know that sword was meant for you."

"Sorry... I'm not one who likes being the pawn in someone else's game." Methos shifted his position as if to show disdain for the man.

"I am O ro' dred," the old man said. "This is Nin... my wife."

"I'm a traveler from foreign lands. I have no desire to be king in this place!"

"You don't remember me?" O ro' dred asked.

"No... have we met? I don't recall."

O ro' dred smiled. The Lady could be very devious. This surely was the boy whose life he had once saved... if so... he was nearly as old as the old potter... or so close it did not matter. It was this boy who should have ended his life. Already the vision he had once seen so clearly in his blasted eye was fading... only darkness would reside there now. His moment of death had passed... the future lay before him as unknown as it had in that long ago desert world that had been the birthplace of both the boy and himself. "Listen to me boy... the world is what it is and we are all merely the pawns of the architects of this game in which we find ourselves. We all have parts to play... yours is to wield that sword."

"I rather think I'll decline the honor!" Methos folded his arms across his chest.

O ro' dred shook with silent laughter. "So be it. Now... do you have any ideas how I might turn that boy into a worthy king? I am only a simple potter... despite what these mortals think... and I could really use some help."

"The boy's friends know his limitations. They will help... and he has a good heart. He wants to be a good king."

O ro' dred sighed. "I sincerely hope so." He looked at Nin and flicked his fingers in her silent language. She nodded and they rose to go to their own campfire.

"Goodnight Methos... and good journey!" O ro' dred said as he and Nin left.

Methos started. He had not given them his name. How had they known? That name was one he had not used in centuries. It was still the name by which he thought of himself... but it was not one he ever shared... not any more. His eyes narrowed. He did not know this old man. He did not know this wild-looking woman. He had no memory of either of them. How did they know him? He shook his head. Perhaps he would not leave on the morrow after all. Perhaps he'd stay and get to know them a little better. Perhaps he'd help this awkward boy-king grow into the role he now must play. He laughed, suddenly things appeared to have taken an interesting turn... and as he had often found over the centuries... he rather liked interesting.


	2. Sword of Desire

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Part Two: Sword of Desire

[Desire]_...not all the fountains of the sea_

Have waves enough to quench it, nor on earth

Is fuel enough to feed,

While day sows night and night sows day for seed.

~from _"On the Cliffs" _by A. Charles Swinburne

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The Island of Britain

__

ca. 539 c.e.

Arthur was dying and not all the skill of the court physicians could stem the ebbing of his life. The last battle at Camlan between his forces and those of his erstwhile nephew and heir, Medraut, had claimed the lives of most of the Round Table.

From the shadows amongst the trees, O ro' dred watch Verus, one of Arthur's first friends and companions, step to the edge of the lake and hesitate. Twice before the warrior had stood there and declined to do what Nin had whispered to Arthur must be done... the sword must be returned to the Lady of the Lake. Only with her would it be safe until another champion arose.

This time, however, Verus turned about resolutely and swiftly flung the great sword into the air, arcing it over the choppy waters. The sword gleamed almost red in the sunset and then, pommel down began its swift descent. Just as it touched the waves... a hand seemed to grasp it... brandish the sword three times in the dying light... then pull it into the waters.

O ro' dred chuckled. "_However does she do that?_" he thought as he stemmed the sound of his laughter. The men of this court thought him long dead. He'd quietly withdrawn to a safe retreat and Nin had become his emissary to Arthur's court over the last years... offering guidance and counsel. She still spoke little... but when she did... it was as if an oracle spoke through her... at least that was the effect he'd tried to arrange.

As for the Lady's boy... O ro' dred had marveled how that one always managed to stay on the fringes of Arthur's court. A man of little importance... a scholar barely noticed... a planner of campaigns when asked... a speaker of philosophies when pushed, a voice of wisdom in dark days. Throughout his time there... Methos had stayed as far away from the sword as he could manage... and spoken with O ro' dred or Nin only in secret. He'd managed to learn Nin's finger language as well as O ro' dred had. Sometimes within the court itself before O ro' dred had staged his own death... they'd spoken in secret with no one the wiser.

The few other immortals who frequented the court had watched them with cautious eyes. O ro' dred no longer had the moment of his final death clearly before him... and as the years had passed and his life with Nin had become precious to him... he'd forgiven the boy for not killing him. He let Nin protect him if she wished. To challenge him... one had to face Nin... and despite her size... she had a passion for his life and a determination to protect him that helped her face all challengers successfully. The Lady's boy met his own challenges in his own way. He avoided them... or he slew them if necessary. But he had left years ago... finally feeling perhaps that he had been in one place too long... or perhaps feeling too strongly the desire to possess the sword that should have been his... the sword he had declined.

Now... Arthur was dying and the sword was returned to the Lady. In the rising fog on the lake... O ro' dred watched the small open boat approach. The Lady stood tall and perilous within it... and the boat moved as though it were propelled by magic. Once it beached on the rocky shore, Arthur was carried to it by his final honor guard and made comfortable... his head on the Lady's lap as she sat to receive him. Nin, too, climbed aboard and joined her king and the Lady on their final voyage. Then the small boat retreated once more as if by magic onto the lake's surface and was hidden within the thickening fog. O ro' dred watched only a moment more and then turned to find his way to the far side of the lake where he'd been told to meet them.

* * *

"So what happens now?" O ro' dred wanted to know. They'd buried Arthur's body deep within a small cave and sealed it with a fall of rocks. The legend that he would return would be carefully passed on to others... paving the way for a new champion bearing the sword in some future day.

The Lady turned. "Still anxious to die, my friend?"

"No... not anxious... but if everything... if all my time here led to the moment your boy was supposed to claim the sword... Well... we know how well that worked. If everything led to that moment... what happens now?" O ro' dred puzzled. "How will your plans move forward? Why didn't the old plan work?"

Aja through back her head and laughed. "Oh my friend... free will is always a part of the game... it must be. I cannot _make_ anything happen. I see the possibilities that might be... I set my found ones on the paths destiny has for them... but they must always be free to make the final choice... the final decision... It is the way of it."

Silently Nin flicked her own question, "The sword, Lady... what happens to it now?" Nin's eyes were strangely bright as she regarded the sword of power. Working closely with Arthur at times over these last few years, she had been entranced by its compelling voice which spoke to her of how she might better protect her man from those who would steal him from her. The voice had grown more insistent in the past few days as death had finally claimed the mortal king.

Aja gazed sadly into Nin's dark eyes and tried to fathom the depth of the woman's soul. Finally she sighed and pulled out the crystal... tossing it to Nin. "Tell me what you see Nin," she whispered sadly.

Nin caught the glowing crystal within her hands and rubbed the rough, faceted crystal... as she turned it over and over in her tanned hands, her mouth opened in fear and she gasped. The crystal dropped to the ground as she backed away from it. Her eyes betrayed a sense of loss and pain much as the one O ro' dred had first seen reflected in her eyes so long ago.

Nin buried her face in her hands and wailed in torment.

Quietly Aja retrieved the glowing crystal and replaced it within her bag. She grasped her staff and rose to leave.

O ro' dred hugged Nin to him... attempting to calm her... but nothing seemed to work. Suddenly she threw off his arms and raced after Aja's departing form. "Leave it with me... if I have it... what I saw will never happen!" Furiously her fingers flicked her desperation.

Aja gazed at her sadly. Slowly she unbuckled the sword from about her waist and handed it to Nin. "By your choice... It is not truly yours... but hold it for a time... until it is claimed once more." She reached out to press her palm against the silent one's face with an expression of sad acceptance. Aja's thumb rubbed softly at a stray tear on Nin's face.

Nin settled on the ground... her attention focused on the blade she now possessed. O ro' dred held his breath as she drew it forth and stroked the edge with an almost feral sense of glee. By the time he looked away from her to question the Lady... the old one had vanished. He had no sight, or sense of her. Within him... his heart was troubled. What had Nin seen that had so terrified her? Why had possessing this thing been so important to her? Why had Aja spoken of choice and free will and then been so saddened by Nin's request?

Slowly O ro' dred knelt by her side and pushed the tangles of her brown hair away from her dark eyes. Nin gazed at him with glee. Her fingers flicked. "It is mine! I will protect you! Now you will be forever safe!" O ro' dred held her close within his embrace and feared that what Nin was now focused on... might very well prove their destruction.

* * *

****

Norway, Viking Lands

__

823 c.e.

Methos dismounted and carefully approached the mountain cave, standing without for the immortals within to acknowledge his presence and have time to prepare. He stood easily... confidently... the only uncertainty in him was the reason why word had come to him that the old one wished to see him once more.

As always when he ran across O ro' dred, he was struck by the sense that the old one knew something about him that he would not say. The old man would chuckle at his questions and deflect the conversation to some obscure witticism... some ancient philosophy. In other words... he managed to ever avoid answering Methos' questions. 

The old one knew him from somewhere... Methos had long ago decided... but from where? He had no memories of ever meeting the man before that day in the Giant's Dance... among the Standing Stones. He had stood that day before the sword that teased at his resolve to never take it... never wield it... never lose himself in the visions of blood and power that it called up in him... Visions of his past... visions he feared would once more overwhelm him and lead to his final death.

Methos did not like being here. He squared his shoulders and waited, accepting that he must face the old ones one more time... and the sword.

Finally O ro' dred came to the cavern entrance and beckoned Methos forward.

The old one clutched Methos' arm in friendship. "My thanks for coming, boy... I had despaired of help." He motioned with his head toward the wails that emanated from deep within the cavern... echoing like some other-worldly demon trapped between the veil of reality and the veil of dream.

"Darius told me your message said she grows worse... that he fears for you both."

"Aye boy... and I do not think that even his calming words to her will quiet her mind ever again. I fear she is lost... but I wish now only for a moment in time to find the strength to bring her back for just a little while." O ro' dred's shoulders sagged as though weary of a heavy load. For almost three hundred years he had watched helplessly as Nin's overwhelming need to protect him against all challengers had slowly altered to her attacking without regard for life all immortals upon whom they happened. Recently... she had also begun to use the sword on mortals. It was at that point that O ro' dred had withdrawn with her to the wilderness, far from human habitation, sending word before he did so to Darius in Paris.

Since taking the quickening of the Ancient One... Darius had become much like the holy man had been... quiet, thoughtful, reflective, gentle. O ro' dred had not known the general Darius had been... but he'd known of him. And... he had known the Ancient. This change in Darius had seemed to be for the best. Once Darius had even asked the old potter about the wandering woman... the Ancient he called Anya. 

O ro' dred had simply smiled and shaken his head. "She reveals herself to us in her own time and in her own ways. Best not to speak of her to anyone, ever." 

Darius had nodded his compliance. Instead the priest had spoken to Nin... trying to ease her mind about what she felt. He, too, had learned her way of speaking, and flicked his fingers in the silent tongue of Nin's long-lost people. The sword for him had always been just a sword. It had never called to him nor troubled his sleep with visions of power drenched in blood as it did Nin. He had no frame of reference within himself to counter the lust for the sword that grew in Nin's mind. With each quickening she took with it... her mind seemed less and less able to focus on the here and the now.

Methos stared at the wailing Nin... She rocked to and fro on the floor of the cave and mumbled unintelligible sounds. She waved her hands about and beat her head. Suddenly she glanced up to see him. With a ferocious growl of anger she leaped toward him... her hands extended in claws to scratch at his eyes.

Methos backed up a step, watching as the chain binding her to the cave's wall snapped with an angry "_clank_" and pulled her up short. She regained her balance and roared at him... desperate to reach him.

"She no longer knows friend from foe. I fear she would kill even me... and then be entirely lost to reason from the guilt of her actions," O ro' dred sadly clucked. "I need your help, boy... I dare not take her back to the world of men until she is better. Here we are and here we remain."

Methos shifted his weight. "What do you expect me to do?" He was not pleased to be here. He'd come because Darius had thought it important. He'd dropped the life he was living... left friends he'd not wanted to leave quite so soon, and vanished from the sight of his Watcher all too easily. 

He'd tried to convince Darius to come as well... but his friend had shaken his head with that smile of his that reminded Methos all too much of the Ancient. "My place is here. This is a task I think is set for you... a path you must trod."

"I think you know boy," the old potter whispered. He nodded toward the far wall of the cave where lay the sheathed sword.

"I won't take that thing! I refuse it! Three times I have said no to it... what makes you think I would change my mind now!" Methos felt his own anger rising... and at the base of it... the whispered pleas of the sword.

"Please Methos... only for a while... just so I can reach through to her once more. If you take it far away... she may not hear its call... Then I can teach her to ignore it as I do... as you do."

Methos sighed. "It's dangerous old man... especially in my hands. If I falter for even a moment, the world will fall into a cycle of chaos and death from which it may never recover... not this time."

"You will not falter!"

Methos turned away. "I can't take it!" he insisted.

The old man's voice rose in his desperation. "You are responsible for your own actions boy... don't blame who or what you are or what you have done or might do on those within. You have the strength to ignore its call... as you have done before."

Nin had retreated into a huddled ball on the cavern floor... moaning and hissing in her delirium. By the light of the small flickering fire, Methos could see her hands reach spasmodically toward something that seemed to appear only to her and, failing to grasp it, she wailed in her despair and hatred.

"Only you can hold this for a while without falling victim to it. I cannot leave it unattended nor can I leave her to even take it elsewhere. Help me boy... for all our sakes. If this thing stays here... I will not be able to control her much longer... and with my death... she will hunt the world. I fear then for all our sakes, and all the world's," O ro' dred pleaded. "There is no one else."

"There is Darius."

"No... the great sword has passed beyond him now. His path lies elsewhere."

Silence settled on them for a time... punctuated only by Nin's moans. Finally Methos stood with a great intake of breath. "Very well... but only for a short while... it is not mine... Until she passes it on of her own will... the sword is hers. I will take it from here... and pray that time and distance grant her some measure of peace once more."

"It is all I ask," remarked O ro' dred sadly.

Methos crossed the cavern and grasped the sword... feeling even as he did so the desire to wield it. He shuddered and let the desire bounce off him. "I do not guarantee how long I can hold it for her... I may have to bring it back sooner than you would like."

"I understand."

Methos turned toward the old man and regarded his sad expression. "Do what you can for her and do so quickly... and pray that it will be enough." At first he made to leave only carrying the sword. But something stopped him. His eyes glazed a moment as the voice of the sword whispered of justice. Slowly, as though in a dream, he removed his own sword from about his waist, letting it fall on the stony floor of the cave. Then he buckled the great sword about him and adjusted it. The sword seemed satisfied. Steeling his resolve against any more of its seductive whispers... he strode from the dark cavern once more into the waning light of evening.

In the distance he could see a flock of ravens circling on the wind, and he could hear the cries of a pack of wolves on the hunt. Some part of him wanted to join in the blood-lust of the hunt... to run pell-mell through the forest and slice his way through the hunters to be the first on the quarry. He wanted to swing the great sword about him and revel in the carnage it could do.

Methos shuddered. This was not going to be easy. He would need all the concentration... all the focus of a thousand forms of meditation to hold down the beast that dwelled within. He was no longer the savage who had roamed the ancient world killing with abandon. He was no longer death incarnate... but death was still within him... a part of him... perhaps only waiting for the moment to ride forth once more. 

Striding to his horse... he leapt upon his back and pulled sharply at the reins. One glance at the cave showed him O ro' dred waving his farewell and his thanks.

Methos turned and road swiftly down the mountainside once more toward civilization. If he dwelt there among men whose lives were civil and quiet... then perhaps he would not hear the siren call of the great sword. Perhaps if he listened to music or contemplated art or literature... or lived and worked within the framework of their courtly manners... he could keep the call at bay. But he did not know for how long. And he dreaded what might happen if he were forced to take another immortal's head.

* * *

Within the cave, O ro' dred watched him go with both relief and fear. Relief that he might have the chance to redeem Nin's mind from the darkness... and fear that the Lady's boy would not have the strength to bear the burden.

The old potter had neither seen nor felt the Lady's presence in centuries. He had begun to wonder if she even still existed. Thus, without guidance, O ro' dred had done what he could. He had hoped Darius would reclaim the sword... but as he'd told Methos... he did not think that was any longer an option for the Goth. Whatever forces held Darius now... the great sword was no longer a factor for him... no longer a thing he might carry or wield.

O ro' dred knelt beside the weeping Nin and brushed her tangled hair with a smile. Despite it all... he loved her... he enfolded her within his arms and rocked with her all night on the cavern floor... aware that the further Methos was from them with the great sword, the quieter Nin became.

At last with dawn's first light, Nin looked up at him with a teary smile. Her fingers flicked briefly the sign she used for his name. Then she burrowed her head into his chest and relaxed... clasping him tightly. She knew him once more. There was still a chance he could save her... if only for a little while.


	3. Sword of Blood

****

Part Three: Sword of Blood

Far from the living world, wandering and condemned,

Across the desert wastes, go running like the wol[f];

Make out your destiny, you poor disordered soul...

And flee the infinite you carry within yoursel[f]!

~from _Condemned Women: Delphine and Hippolyta_ by Charles Baudelaire

translated by James McGowan, copyright 1993

****

East of the Ural Mountains, near the Black Sea

It was almost a surprise that Kae Dhun saw light once more. He had lain in darkness within the earth for so long... that neither time nor light held meaning for him. Something of the earth had shifted 

during the night... perhaps a great tremor... and the rocks above had parted slightly so that by day... Kae was aware that there was light... and air. He'd had just enough room to pull in that great gasp of air that so marked an immortal's return to life.

Now... within the earth he struggled to be free of the rocks. Once before something in the darkness had awakened him... the thief who had stolen his sword! Kae struggled again and something seemed to loosen. It might take a while... and he would surely perish more times than he could count from lack of water and lack of food... but he would be free. He would free himself from the earth... he would reclaim his sword... and... he would kill the thief!

Within him, he heard the great roaring laughter of the Old One whose head he had taken. "_So certain of that are you boy? You interfered in something and you will pay a great price!_"

"I will be free Old One... and when I am I will be the one in control!"

"_No child, you will never be free. I will hold you always!_"

"I am no child! I killed you with your own sword! I am the stronger!"

The voice merely continued its booming laugh... sounding more and more like Kae's own heartbeat. Gradually the voice faded, as if it were a thing of no consequence.

His struggles continued... and as they did so... the events of his life played out in his mind.

"Street rat!"

"Guttersnipe!"

The names were common to the children of Master Po, the old thief who had found them and raised them to steal from the wealthy or from the shopkeepers all that they needed. The children swarmed like small rodents out of their hidden tunnels to claim whatever they wanted as if it were theirs for the taking. Long ago Master Po had beaten conscience out of his children. They needed only obedience to his words. They would have enough to live on... but they must obey him in all things. Failure to do so resulted in crippling beatings. The children had learned early to obey Master Po... obey and fear him.

Only after they were grown did he release them from their fealty to him and send them away. Kae had lived his mortal life as one of Master Po's children. He could never recall life before the old thief... although he was certain he must have had one. He knew he had been a beggar when Master Po had offered a better way. Being very young and very hungry... Kae had accepted the terms of Master Po's tutelage. He'd seldom needed a beating.

When the time came for Kae to move on, Master Po had grown white-haired and frail. "I will soon die as well... It is time for a new Master to arise. Perhaps it will be you my fine student. Find the children and teach them how to survive. Teach them as I have taught you."

Kae had bowed his head in reverence to his teacher and agreed. If he learned the master was dead, he would return and take up his mantle. But first, Kae wished a life of his own. Eagerly he sought new adventures, new pleasures as an adult, as someone who could make decisions for himself.

They had been poor decisions.

Within months, Kae was knifed to death by those he made the mistake of robbing. They had left his body on a refuse heap. He'd awakened the next day... surprised that his many wounds had healed.

Returning in wonder to Master Po, he'd been surprised at the old man's fearful tone. "You must leave this place. You are one of the demons of old who cannot die! I have heard he, who was once my master, speak of them. It was said they came back to life when killed... and can never die."

"I must learn what it is I must do then!" Kae had remarked eagerly. Already he had plans for those who had killed him.

"You cannot remain here." Master Po shook his head in great sadness. "Once those who killed you see you, the hunt for you will begin. My children and I will be killed as well. They know you were once one of us. You must leave this place." 

"I will kill them first!" snarled Kae Dhun with a leer. "No one will ever harm you!"

Over Master Po's protestations, Kae had faced his murderers and slain them... but there were witnesses. It was as Master Po had said. They and their followers came for Master Po and his children. They were no longer to be tolerated. The slaughter was complete. 

Kae had managed to get his master away... but the old man was clearly dying. "You must find others like yourself. You must learn from them." Master Po's words were very weak.

"Where do I look?"

"Far to the southwest, it is said that one of your kind lives on a great mountain near an inland sea. Go there!" Master Po spoke no more... for death had claimed him.

Angrily, Kae Dhun returned to his village and began slaying all that came against him. If he died, he awoke and returned to the slaying so that he became a demon in the darkness that could not die. Finally those who remained in his town were dead. Only then did he follow Master Po's advice and seek out the inland sea of the southwest... and the mountain home of one of his kind. 

It had taken many years, but finally he had reached the mountain. Already, even from the base of it, he felt a great power was here. Climbing to the top, he heard voices and hid behind rocks.

"Claim the sword and take my head and with it my power!" one of the men said casting a great sword into the earth between him and another. "Claim your destiny and all the knowledge of what I am!" The first one had laughed almost maniacally as if this were a danger. Apparently the other man agreed. He refused and left.

For some moments Kae had stared at the being that thrust his arms toward the sky and seemed to call on the very forces of nature. Kae did not understand the being's words now. They were in no language he'd ever heard. Kae Dhun stared at the sword, gleaming red in the light of day. If the Old One wanted to give both it and his own power away... why shouldn't Kae Dhun receive that power and knowledge? Take the Old One's head? How strange... but it must be the way that knowledge was shared. Kae Dhun gathered himself into a coiled position. He was ready. He waited for the other to turn his back.

When he did so, Kae raced onto the mountain plateau grabbing the sword as he passed it and swung it about just as the other turned in surprise. Or was it? He laughed and seemed almost to welcome the blow. His power... _his quickening_... a great dark cloud shot through with lightning had raced out of the other... _Kritis_... and blasted outward so that the earth trembled. Lightning flashed and struck Kae... filling him and lifting him into the air. Kae saw what the Ancient had seen and felt drawn to it. He too had slaughtered the innocent. He too had lifted the sword and killed as if it were all that was important in life. Kae embraced that part of Kritis as if it were himself. Then he saw the other face of Kritis... a man saddened and ashamed. "_This too is part of it!_" Kritis challenged him. "_Accept it all!_"

"Never!" Kae screamed! "I claim the sword of justice and will mete it out as you once did!"

The lightning flashed ever more wildly about him. One particularly strong blast forked far away seeming to strike the earth, yet there was no fire... or sense of destruction where it hit. Another seemed to strike directly below Kae Dhun's feet... opening the earth in a great shudder. "_Then rest in this place until you can accept it all! You are mine now... and I will hold you here for a time. Once you understand this... you will be free Only when you accept my other face, will you be free!_"

Kae had felt himself fall deeply into a great chasm... and then the earth had closed above him and he knew the mountain had fallen. He was crushed beneath the earth... and knew nothing more.

It was then the thief had come. Someone who had stolen _his_ sword... Kae Dhun claimed it as his because he had dared to kill Kritis. He'd felt the thief... and knew that he would find him again someday. The thief too was a demon doomed to walk the earth for all time. Kae would find him and take his power from him when the time was right. Lying in the darkness, over time the thoughts of Kritis flowed through his mind. Nothing made sense to him except Kritis' darkness that spoke of killing. Always Kae Dhun turned his face from anything else. He continued his struggles. He would be free. He would worry away at the rocks and the earth and eventually he would be free once more! No matter how many lifetimes it took!

Kritis could not hold him forever! Master Po had taught Kae well. In time... even the most vigilant of jailers grows weary. In time... we can force our way through to freedom. And the immortal had all the time in the world.

* * *

****

Isle of Britain, Avalon

If he concentrated, O ro' dred, potter of the ancient world, friend of the mysterious Ancient immortal Aja, and husband of Nin, could almost sense the movements of the outer world. Time marched on... and with it, the world changed. Here within a single moment of time prepared for them long ago by the Lady herself, O ro' dred and Nin had come to live the last of their lives.

At the outer edge of his consciousness, O ro'dred sensed the others in their humdrum and daily lives. How he envied them the ordinariness of those short lives. The immortality of the others was in their children... and their children's children. Soon the others would cover the earth and inherit all the places. Hidden amongst them, would be the old holy places, like Avalon, awaiting the rebirth of the people.

"Wait here," Aja had instructed before she had left so long ago, that last time he'd seen her. "My time is almost over. I go to meet my destiny."

"And where is that?" O ro' dred had dared to ask. In thirty eight hundred years he had seldom dared to ask her anything.

Aja had smiled, but had said nothing. O ro' dred was struck by the peace in her face. It was as though she had finally faced and defeated the last of her demons. He noted that by this time her hair was totally silver, yet her face was still that of Aja, Priestess of Nut, the Lady of Living Water Who Gives Life to the Desert. She still seemed young and strong, as capable of manipulating events and weather as she always had.

"I will erect a shield. You and Nin may enter and leave this place as you please. You will always find peace here. The killing never touched this place. Alone of all the homes of the people, it remained holy. But any who enter here without your leave will not be able to go from this place, while the wall exists. My power will trap them here... until it is spent. Nothing lasts forever my friend. There is always an end to all things."

As usual, and with little farewell, Aja had left, fading into the encircling mists about the lake. He and Nin had watched her go, and then turned to organizing necessities for life in this place. The Lady had told them that all they needed they would find here... They could leave and return if they wished... and they had remained for a few years... before traveling out into the world. It had been out there in the world... that the sword had claimed Nin's mind and O ro' dred had begged Methos to take it away.

But in this place, after their return, after Methos had returned the sword to his guardianship, O ro' dred had finally found peace, as had Nin. Even the sword did not seem to speak to them in this place, as if it knew they were now beyond its call.

The sword was the very one that should have ended his life hundreds of years before. O ro' dred had been ready for that death. He had faced it... only for it to be denied to him. Methos... the Lady's boy had refused to take the sword to make it his own. So it was that the mortal boy Artos had taken it and pulled it from the stone. The sword had truly been a sword of justice for the mortal king, although it had likely caused as many problems as it solved... at least among the immortals, who came to Arthur's court during his reign. But the sword seemed happy in Arthur's care... and no immortal dared steal it. With his death, however, that had changed. Thus the sword was returned to the Lady from whence it had first come. She had reluctantly given it to Nin to hold. That holding, however, had driven Nin mad until O ro' dred had begged Methos to take it for a while. He had done so... and Nin had returned to her right mind.

In the years they had together after that, O ro' dred had taught Nin all he could about his future... the death that had been denied... the death that might still find him. He made her promise to accept it when it came. She could not stop it. She could not revenge him. She must stand to one side and not interfere. Eventually Nin had accepted his fate... or seemed to.

Then Methos had returned with the sword.

He'd found them still in the Viking Lands of ice and snow. Appearing unannounced in the storm, he'd stood shivering before the fire in their cave... his face drawn and white, a glazed look in his eyes. For a moment, O ro'dred thought his death had come for him at last. He'd glanced at Nin. Her eyes widened in fear. She felt it as well.

Nin had then done the one thing that had most surprised the old potter. She had welcomed Methos with a hug. Her welcome broke through the boy's paralysis and he had laughed a moment and hugged her back. When she withdrew from the embrace, he'd unbuckled the sword and let it fall to the cave floor. Methos had let out a great breath as if he had dropped a heavy burden. He'd kicked the sword away as color seemed to return to his face.

O ro' dred had watched Nin. But she went back to her cooking, never giving the sword a glance. The potter breathed a sigh of relief. "My thanks, boy."

Methos had given him a dull glance and a shudder. 

"It must have cost you a great deal."

"You have no idea." Wearily Methos had collapsed on a rock by the fire and stared into the flickering flames.

"How many?" O ro' dred had finally dared to ask.

"Too many. Mainly mortals, but it was all too easy... and enticing. It was as if all I'd managed to put behind me long ago... came once more to haunt my every step."

"But you brought it back." The old potter had met Methos' eyes and had seen a shadow of something there he had never before seen. _He has loved and lost someone... the sword came between them._ "You overcame its call."

Methos nodded. "I will not take it again... no matter how you plead."

The boy had left by morning, trudging through the snow in his hurry to be gone. In all the days that followed, the sword lay quiet... sated by its fill of blood and willing to wait. Days became weeks... and then months... and then years. They traveled among the others once more... and noted the changes in how they lived and in what they believed. Once they met a small immortal female who smiled at them with Aja's eyes... and O ro' dred felt something of the Lady's presence about her... and a sense of joy. At last he and Nin had returned to Britain... to the shores of the Lake, Avalon. About it O ro' dred still sensed the power of Aja. For a moment as he and Nin had stood on the shores of the lake... he thought he saw the Ancient spread her arms in welcome to gather them home.

That had been uncounted years before. There was no need to count them. O ro' dred could sense the passing of the others as if they were boats on the stream of time. They could not enter here... only one of the people could... and none were drawn here. The veil of the Lady's shield hid them from all.

* * *

Free at last Kae Dhun found a weapon and slaughtered a nearby family. He reveled in his freedom. But the weapon was as nothing. He looked at the western horizon and sensed his sword calling to him from far away. Kae smiled to himself and set his sights on reclaiming it. It might take years... but he would find it... the sword whispered always in his mind.

As he drew closer, he felt the pull of finding the thief. He could sense him. He was near. But first the sword. He would re-claim the sword and then kill the thief with the very thing he had stolen. He would kill him for stealing it. He would kill him for leaving him behind when he might have helped dig him out. He would kill him because it was what his kind did. They killed one another for the lovely taste of quickening. Kae Dhun had a real taste for it now. He kept hoping to find an immortal that would feed his soul as the Old One had done... but all were paltry compared to that first quickening he'd taken.

Within him Kritis boomed. "_You are mine! Face me... you must accept all that I am! Only then will you know peace! Only then will you begin to understand!_"

"Be silent!" Kae Dhun snarled into the night. "You are dead and I have all of you that I wish or need." Then he'd rage and find someone or something to kill... slashing away at them as if they were cattle to be slaughtered. Kae Dhun no longer cared if they were mortal or immortal. All were his for the taking. He was the master thief... and he would take the small thief to task as Master Po had often done to his children. He would show him who was in charge. The thought of finding that boy who now was an immortal became an even greater obsession the longer it took. But first the sword. Evidently... the thief had not kept it. What kind of immortal would simply give that sword away? "_Only a fool!_" the sword whispered to him. "_Only a fool!_"

At last he came to the edge of the world. And still the sword called from beyond the waters. Kae Dhun found a boat with a crew to take him across... once they landed he gave them their payment... although it was not the payment they expected. Once they were dead... he traveled across the land on his journey toward the sword.

Kae Dhun sensed the wall of magic as only shimmer between him and his desire. Entering it... he found the land on the other side somehow changed... somehow warmer and lush. The winter winds of the outside world did not blow here. In this place it was as if a full summer were in bloom. It was a haven of life. For a moment he knew peace. Even Kritis had seemed to whisper as if this were familiar to him. This was home! Or so like it as to be of no consequence.

The immortal shook off the Ancient's peace. Kae Dhun had no need of peace! He had need of his sword. Glaring about, Kae focused on the sword's seductive call. It wanted him... it needed him... if it was to escape this place... if it was to be fed... if it was to mete out justice once more.

* * *

It was Nin, gathering berries, who first felt the other come. Dropping the willow basket she raced back to the shoreline where O ro' dred sat calmly fishing.

"One comes!" her fingers flicked. Immediately she fumbled for her knives. She'd taken to not wearing them in this sacred place... but they were never far.

The old potter placed his hands over hers and, meeting her gaze shook his head sorrowfully. Nin nodded and released the knives... tears already in her eyes. O ro' dred's death had come... there was nothing to be done.

He rose still holding her hands and turned to face the on-coming stranger. This one had a power within like that of Aja... but he did not control it... it merely seemed to hover about him... as if not really a part of him.

The Oriental immortal glared at them both. "Where is my sword?" he snapped at them.

O ro' dred smiled. "It is not yours... nor ever was," he offered calmly.

"I am Kae Dhun... slayer of Kritis... eldest of the firstborn. The sword is mine by rights!"

"Take it then... for all the good it will ever do you." O ro' dred motioned to a nearby stone upon which the sword had rested... gleaming ever more red in the sunlight.

Kae swiftly crossed to the stone... raising the blade vertically in his hands. He caressed its smooth, cold feel. He hearkened to its whispers. _Justice for the thief! Justice for all who have stolen from you!_

The immortal turned and leered at the two. First he would kill the old man... then he would use the woman and kill her as well. Fools! Neither of them raised a hand against him... in their eyes was a knowledge and acceptance of their fate. Kae Dhun smiled as he swung the sword back and forth in a few practice moves to get the feel of its weight and balance. It had been so long... so very long.

He stepped closer to the immortal pair.

"What? Not even a token resistance? Our gift is wasted on such as you!" he spat at them and raised the sword to feed its bloodlust... and his own soul. These two were old... not as old as Kritis... but old enough that their quickening would surely satisfy him for a while.

Nin recalled the Lady's words, "_Be with him at the end!_" She could not let him go! In a single moment of decision and sacrifice... she turned... not leaping into the path of the sword to prevent its fall so much as to place herself likewise in its path. If O ro' dred were to die... then she would die with him. He was her heart and her soul... He was her everything. She clutched tightly at him.

The blade fell... and the two immortals died as one.

Their quickening rose as two blasts from a fiery furnace... their power and long life swirled until it was as a single blast of cold fire. Kae Dhun stared at the great pillar of power and waited... licking his lips in anticipation. Two at once! Had such a thing ever been done?

Within him, Kritis laughed, "_Done? Child you have no idea!_"

Higher and higher the pillar of power rose until it seemed to touch the sky. Shot through with lightning that sparked and crackled, it peaked and then rushed earthward as an arrow that forced its way into Kae where it rumbled about... pushing and filling him as no quickening since that of Kritis' had ever done.

"_It will be the last you ever taste child!_" the three voices within him cried. They spoke as one... they were more one with Kritis than Kae would ever be. The immortal slammed around in spasms... attempting to seize control of them. It was his body... he was the victor... he would make the choices... he would mete out death to any who opposed him.

Against O ro' dred's calm acceptance of the unalterable future... Kae Dhun cast up his own denial of what might be... his will to bend events to his own purpose. Against Nin's overwhelming love... he reached for the bloody vengeance with which she had once wielded the sword and played on that... to pull her away to his side... to his point of view. Against Kritis' other face... the one that would sacrifice himself for the greater good... Kae reached for the madness that had once filled the Ancient and let it flow through him.

Slowly he bent them to his will.

Brimming now with a power so great that no one and nothing could stand against him, Kae Dhun turned to leave this place... The world would now be his! He would kill until life was extinguished or nearly so. But first... the thief.

Laughing maniacally, Kae Dhun cast away the pathetic sword he'd worn into this sickening place and belted on the great sword. He spat at the ground as he headed toward the shimmer that stood between him and his desire.

The wall solidified.

The more he pressed against it... the harder it became. Kae stood back. He tried once more in another place... and then another. But no matter where he turned... no matter where he tried... the shimmering veil between worlds would not let him pass.

He screamed into the evening that began to fall.

"_You are here child... and here you will remain... until my power is spent._"

Kae turned seeking the source of the soft feminine voice. He saw nothing... he felt no one.

Drawing the sword he sneered, "Face me... and I will mete out justice!"

A great hearty laugh sounded in the growing darkness. "_Child, I am already long dead. I, too, have wielded that blade. I know its power... I know its lies. Only when you can realize it for what it is will I release you._"

"I who killed Kritis and was buried in the earth for centuries will outlive your paltry power! He sought to hold me... yet I am free. I will be free of you as well!" the immortal snapped.

"_Perhaps... but by then... he will be ready for you!_"

"Who?"

The laugh was gentle then... and already fading away on the breeze, "_My beloved... my warrior... and my... surprise. In time to come... we will be one once more._"

Kae raged about the encampment... hacking and destroying everything he could find. He beat against the veil and screamed into the night. By morning he sat exhausted on a large stone, regarding the impenetrable veil.

"I _will _be free... and I _will_ kill that thief," he asserted quietly. "Not all the powers of all the Ancients will prevent me!"

From somewhere on a breeze... he thought he heard once more a gentle laughter. "_You may try... but I think you will fail. In the end... child... we shall be one... and your rage will be only as a wave crashing uselessly on the shore. I have been there. I know. And so do those who live within you._"

Kae Dhun snorted. He'd waited before. He could wait again. Once her power was spent... he would be free. She could not hold him forever. Not even the earth had held him forever... and the mountain had been far stronger than the mere will of a dead immortal... no matter how old she was... nor how powerful she might once have been. He would push at the wall... eventually he would be free. Oh yes... he would be free!


	4. Sword of Vengeance

****

Part Four: Sword of Vengeance

" ...[In him]_ all_ [shall] _meet, Their ancient feuds forgetting,_

* * *

__

To plowshare beat the sword, To pruning hook the spear."

~from _Christ Is the World's True Light_, lyrics by G.W. Briggs

****

Isle of Britain, Avalon

In one spot, far above his head, Kae Dhun could see that the blue sky... was just a little more blue. He'd almost missed seeing it. Had it not been for his happening to toss rocks at the invisible wall that separated his summer prison from the rest of the mortal world... he might well have missed it.

As it was, it was small... too small to climb through... and far too high for Kae to reach anyway. But once he'd seen it... he'd smiled, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes. The power of the ancient immortal that held him in this place must be waning. And if it were waning... then he would be free.

Carefully he aimed a rock at the patch of blue... and when it passed harmlessly through the barrier to land on the ground outside with a _thud_... he'd known he was right. Kae felt like celebrating... He returned to the small stone hovel that served as his shelter, and grasped a burning brand... Gleefully he set fire to everything.

He'd not done this in some time. It still amazed him that although he could destroy everything... kill all life that was in this one moment of time in which he found himself imprisoned... when he woke from sleep... all was as it had been when first he'd stumbled into this prison seeking his stolen sword.

He'd found it... and killed the two inhabitants who dwelt here... those two old immortals who'd offered no resistance to their deaths. They'd robbed him of his feelings of victory by their submission to his sword-stroke. But it mattered little. Their quickening was a part of him now. He'd not let their lives twist him into something else... he'd twisted them... as he had once twisted the old one... the one he'd first taken.

As darkness fell and the flames of the burning landscape leapt high into the night... Kae felt his patience had been rewarded. Though he'd been a prisoner for decades in this summer-drenched prison... it had been nothing compared to the centuries he'd endured as a prisoner under the mountain which that first massive quickening had brought down on his head. If he'd the patience to endure that prison... then he'd endure this one.

"I am the stronger!" he yelled into the night, his words aimed at the pathetic old ones he'd killed... and at the one whose power kept him here. "I remain while you are nothing! I will be free once more... and I will kill them all. I will be the one!"

Eventually Kae Dhun slept, and when he'd awakened... the world was once more a glorious summer day... the trees were still laden with fruit, the hovel stood undamaged, the fish remained swimming in the lake, and that damned goat was bleating... wanting to be milked.

Kae grinned... and wandered down to the barrier. The patch of blue on blue was slightly bigger he thought. In a year... perhaps two... maybe three... it would be big enough... and when it was big enough... he'd find a way to reach it.

From his various imprisonments, Kae had learned one very important thing. He'd learned patience. He had his sword, he'd be free... First he'd travel south to find the thief, if he still lived, and make him pay. In Kae Dhun's mind... the thief, the one who'd robbed him of his sword so long ago, that boy was the cause of all his problems. And that boy would pay! He could not huddle on holy ground forever. None of them could.

Within him... Kae felt a moment of laughter from the Ancient One. Swiftly Kae twisted it down. "I am victor here... you are nothing," he whispered to it. "I rule... your power serves me." He glared and considered once more burning the glade... just for the fun of it. Perhaps that would weaken the barrier still further... making his eventual escape come all the sooner.

* * *

****

Paris, June 1832

Darius had donned his peasant's clothes, slipping through the darkness of Paris to check with some of his operatives. He'd become a little more outgoing in the face of the recent unrest. He'd always managed to be out and about Paris under cover of darkness... but recently, as the civil unrest had grown... he'd found himself hanging on the fringes of groups at some of the taverns... listening. The students had the right ideas... he just didn't believe, that their impassioned words nor their half-baked schemes of civil revolt would ever get them what they wanted.

Most of these young people had no idea what the Revolution had been like. They saw it only as the means by which the common people had arisen and banded together to end a corrupt government. They did not see the excesses... the horrors... the depths... to which it had fallen. Nor did they appreciate that those who had come to power in that revolution... had themselves been deposed. The students had a romantic notion about what a revolution was... not a realistic one.

Darius glanced in briefly at _Le Chevrie Noir_ intending only to see if Dulon were about when he'd felt a lilting presence amongst the students. Instantly drawing back into the shadows, he gazed over the crowd, concerned as to who was about. That's when he saw her... small, dark-haired, green-eyed Eleanor... his student.

She was focused so totally on the speaker... a handsome young man, well-dressed with wavy brown hair, a pleasant and cultured voice, an aquiline nose above full lips... that Darius began to doubt she was even aware he was there.

Then Eleanor glanced in the priest's direction... and smiled. She knew... how could he have ever doubted it.

After the student oration had reached a fever pitch, and the young men at the tavern were roused up and singing as if songs alone could manage to topple a government... Eleanor quietly joined Darius in the shadows.

"You are out early this evening _mon ami_, you should be more careful." Eleanor whispered conspiratorially. "Someone will see you, or notice you are not at home."

"There are things that need doing... things only I can do."

Eleanor rubbed her arms as she adjusted her thin shawl over her shoulders and shook her head; a lock of dark hair fell from under the dust cap that covered it. "All you need do is ask. You know I will help."

"And this...," Darius gestured toward the students, several of whom were now standing on chairs and tables, lifting their drinks as their songs rose in the night air. "How is this helping?"

"They are right... things need to change. You've seen the conditions most people still live in. How can you who have seen so much and try so hard to make things better not see this?" Eleanor's pleading voice rose slightly... she glanced about and lowered her voice once more. "I cannot just sit in the shadows... I've seen too much... in my life... I need to help. I need to make a difference."

"They are doomed Eleanor.... They are dreamers whose revolution will be little more than an insurrection and a footnote in history. In two hundred years... no one will remember it at all."

Eleanor straightened and smiled at him sadly with a nod. "Perhaps... or perhaps they will be remembered because they were right... even if they fail." She brushed past him, sauntering into the warm summer night. Darius watched sadly as she left. He remained where he was, choosing instead to listen to the students' singing for some moments longer... and then he returned to his rounds. He still had people to see... and intelligence to gather. He needed to get what he could before the students' anger grew so strong... that the government would have no choice but to clamp down. When they did so... even he would have difficulty getting about the city. If the barricades arose once more... many would die.

Three hours later... Darius slipped into the sewers he knew so well... and made his way swiftly along the underground passages into the old city... and home. His old student and companion Grayson was in Paris... and was supplying the students with weapons and ammunition, likely hoping that the revolt might bring Darius off of holy ground to become involved.

Cleaned up and dressed once more in his clerical garb... Darius heated water for tea and considered Grayson's involvement as he nibbled on some bread and cheese. That his old comrade had two purposes in his involvement was quite clear. One... he wished to draw Darius off holy ground... so Darius would need to stay close to the church for the foreseeable future... otherwise... Grayson would strike. He didn't think it was his death his old student wanted so badly... as to force Darius' return to the game... thereby negating any good that he could do here. The second reason likely had to do with money. Knowing Grayson, Darius felt his former friend had bought cheap and was selling dear. Wealth and power seemed to be what inspired Grayson these days. And what fueled him? His need to destroy Darius. Well Darius would not let that happen. He could deal with Grayson... and part him hoped that one day... the man would see the truth of what Darius had learned through the Ancient's quickening... that Grayson would join Darius once more... at his right hand... and work to end the game.

Thoughts of the game reminded him of Eleanor's involvement in this fiasco. The girl had remained here for the most part, for almost six hundred and fifty years. Oh she left periodically... suddenly and without warning... but she always returned. Right now... Darius wished she weren't here. If Grayson were lurking about... if he noticed her... if he learned she was one of the priest's students... he'd challenge her. Although Eleanor was nearly a thousand years old... she'd yet to enter the game.

Darius wondered if it had been his teachings, which had kept her from doing so. Part of him hoped so... but part of him also worried that it might have been an error on his part to keep her from the game. Forty years ago she'd been badly burned in a fire... burned to death actually... and had healed only slowly and painfully... much more so than he'd ever seen in an immortal. Had his teachings rendered her helpless in such circumstances? Did that mean there was a limit to their immortality? Did it mean that aging and death might be possible in those who did not enter the game? The thoughts had intrigued him for decades.

As had Eleanor herself.

From the first moment he'd seen her, standing in a patch of sunlight, which had broken forth from a cloudy sky, he'd felt as if he knew her somehow. Even as light had broken over her small cloaked form, his heart had leaped for joy and his burden of bringing peace to the world had seemed lighter. As he'd gotten to know her... he'd sensed great capabilities in her and perhaps a destiny he could only imagine.

Then he'd seen her dance masked before a fire... an ancient dance that somehow he knew... even as he'd watched... and in that moment of recognizing that dance... he'd recalled a vision he'd seen as a boy. The old woman he'd once known as Anya... the ancient immortal Aja... had shown him this moment and warned him he might have to make a choice.

Darius had felt desire rise in him for her at that moment... a desire he'd not felt for anyone physically in eight hundred years. He'd kissed her... and then walked away. In the darkness of the lonely night that followed, he'd chosen to remain where he was. For the chance to achieve peace for all immortals... he needed to be the visible symbol of that peace. If he chose to be with Eleanor... then he'd simply be another immortal... attempting to survive on the outskirts of the game.

He'd kept his feelings and his desires carefully harnessed after that. Always he'd urged her to go into the outer world... to be with others... especially the immortal she'd once been married to in her mortal existence... the immortal Darius had once known as Antoninus... the immortal he now knew was Methos... the eldest of those who remained.

Within the priest was an understanding that the ancient ones had hopes for Methos and Eleanor... but hopes, which Darius did not completely understand. He also understood that his interference in that plan might only alter it... delay it... but not end it. In the years since that night, Darius' feelings for Eleanor had never dimmed. He longed to be more than simply her friend... and he knew there were times she longed for it as well. But he made no movement... he never acted on her silent invitation... and turned a deaf ear to her pleas that he leave Paris with her. Yet there were times... when leaving here with her was almost too great a temptation.

Tonight was one of those times.

Part of all he was wished to take her in his arms and vanish into the night... never again to be seen by the eyes of mortal men. Some part of him wondered if in all the world there might be such a place where immortals could live in safety. Darius wondered if there were a place set apart from the events that shaped human existence, attune only to the natural world, where all immortals might live in a community where they did not feel the need to kill one another. Was there a place where there was no imperative to be "the one"... where they could all live forever?

Rubbing a hand over his forehead, Darius tried to dispel the thoughts which consumed him... and focus on the here and now. Eleanor was right about one thing. Immortals could not sit forever on the sidelines... they needed... he needed... to be involved in the events of men. He needed to be certain that light remained in the world... that joy was a part of life... and that he... as a beacon of the possibility of peace for their kind... forever shone.

* * *

Freedom had come at last... and with it... Kae had slaked his bloodlust with anyone... anyone who made the mistake of crossing his path. The petty mortals he met on his focused journey across the island paid with their lives. Kae slashed at them without care... taking what he wanted or needed... be it clothes, money, women... food. If authorities pursued him... they died as well. He was in no mood to be delayed any further.

Crossing the thin body of water the people of this time called "the Channel" Kae Dhun arrived once more on the continent... and focused his attention on the old city called Paris... already in a civil upheaval.

"Excellent," he smiled. "No one will stop me or deter me or even notice my passing for all the other slaughter going on." He had not counted on the barricades.

The behemoth constructions of the detritus of life were everywhere throughout the city... and ardent young mortals... determined to change the system... huddled behind them... shooting at anyone who dared venture onto the killing ground before them.

Kae had been shot once. It was a new experience... this being killed by something launched by means of gunpowder from a slender stick. Mankind had developed ever more efficient ways of killing one another. Upon reviving... he'd crawled to a hiding place where he'd glared at the impediment before him. He'd need a new plan if he were to reach the thief. Already Kae's mind filled with scenes of the thief on his knees... begging for his life... offering anything to Kae... but the Oriental wanted only the other's head... and quickening. He would drag him from that mausoleum of a church he lived at and once in the street... Kae would finally have his long-denied vengeance. "You can run... little thief... but I will find you. You cannot hide from me!" But first he had to find a way past the obstructions in his path.

Removing a uniform from a nearby dead body... Kae Dhun slipped among the ranks of the soldiers attacking the barricades. He watched how to operate the "guns" and soon was rather enjoying himself. 

* * *

When the barricades went up... and shots were heard all over Paris, Darius stood at the door of his church... welcoming those who were fleeing the madness. Women with small children, the elderly, the poor, and the sick, sought refuge on holy ground... praying that the violence in the streets would not reach here. Some wept, telling the priest their sons... or their fathers... or their husbands... had gone to the barricades... either as defendants... or as soldiers.

Shopkeepers and their clerks had taken up positions inside some of their stores... desperate to protect their goods. Others were letting their places of business serve as command posts for one side or the other. Some had taken up weapons... and were even now sniping at people in the streets. The sound of gunfire was everywhere.

Concentrating on his parishioners... Darius ignored the rising feel of another immortal until it was so close he knew the other had to be within the church. Glancing around... the priest noticed Grayson kneeling at the foot of a statue in one of the apses. Darius excused himself and crossed the nave to stand quietly over his old comrade in arms.

"I had hoped we would have a quiet moment to talk... old friend," Grayson said flatly.

"I'm rather busy at the moment. But if it's important." Darius slipped his hands inside the sleeves of his cassock and waited patiently. Whatever plan Grayson had formulated... the priest had to be ready for it. "I always have time for old friends."

Grayson chuckled and rose. He smirked as he circled Darius. "The world devolves in chaos... Men kill for a piece of bread... a drink of clean water... a spot of ground they can call their own. Not just here, Darius, but throughout the world. You're huddling here helps no one. Take up your sword once more. Conquer them all... govern them all. You can issue commands of peace, formulate laws of justice in this world if you so desire... if you but stretch forth your hand to grasp it."

"And how would raging over the world... killing, pillaging, and raping... ever bring the world peace?"

"The means of achieving peace cannot be peaceful. If you conquer... then you rule... and all will obey."

"Even you?" Darius' words brought Grayson's circling to a halt.

"We would rule all mankind. One by one... we could face the others of our kind and defeat them. If we work together Darius... we can achieve greatness!"

"And in the end?"

"In the end... we will strive for the final prize... you and I... I swear to you... as I have always sworn... I will never lift a sword against you until that final battle. When we are all that remain... only then... because it must be done... will I fight you." Grayson leaned closely into Darius' face. "I have seen the tiny one Darius... such a small wisp of a thing... I have seen how your eyes follow her where she walks. Come with me now... and I will leave her for you. Remain here... and she is mine."

Darius' widened eyes betrayed his fear. "She is not in the game, Grayson... Leave her be."

"I think not. You must decide Darius... Which is more important to you... your remaining here, her life, or a world we can rule together someday... Perhaps our final battle could be over which of us would possess her." Grayson smiled, replaced his tall hat, and sauntered from the church. He smiled; knowing his words had achieved their intended effect.

Darius backed up a few steps until he felt the stone wall at his back. For a moment he felt truly and utterly trapped. About him the mortals prayed as their children cried, and he knew his place was here... with them. But his heart and soul was on the barricade.

In a moment of decision... Darius threaded his way through the mass of humanity and into his cell... softly closing the door behind him. Grayson might not know about the sewer passages. He'd be watching for Darius to come out... Did the priest dare to leave by means of his secret passage? What if Grayson returned... he'd know Darius had gone? Would he search?

Darius had no time to think this through. Grayson was likely on his way to the barricades, if he'd seen her... he'd know that Eleanor was likely on one near _Le Chevrie Noir_. He had to get to her and get her away from there. Pulling out the stone, Darius pulled at the iron ring, and then replaced the stone carefully as he stepped through the narrow passage. Inside... he shut the opening and descended the steps... already pulling at his cassock to remove it.

Where once he'd had time to watch and wait... suddenly he felt as if there were no time... no time at all. Even within him... the memories of the ancient ones he held stirred uneasily... as if contemplating the death of this child were something they could not endure.

He came up in an alleyway not far from _Le Chevrie Noir_ and looked around. He could barely sense her... but it had to be her! Slowly he slipped along one side of the street... hugging the buildings as shots continued to ring out about him... both from the barricade... and from the windows overhead. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. About him on the street, lay the bodies of the dead and the dying. Still Darius closed in on the immortal presence ahead.

Eleanor reached out and grabbed Darius into the shadows.

"What are you doing here, _mon ami_?"

"I came to see if you were all right. There is an immortal out there... and I think he is hunting." Darius needed to get her attention quickly. He'd explain everything later.

"I know... he was near here earlier. But if that is so this is the last place you need to be. How did you get here?" 

Darius glanced at the barricade a moment... She'd already felt him? How had Grayson gotten here so swiftly? Did he have contacts? Or had he come through the sewers as well? Darius stared at the street thinking feverishly.

"Well go back the way you came. Everyone here will die tomorrow."

Darius met her gaze. Whether or not she'd felt Grayson, this barricade was no longer safe for Eleanor... if it had ever been. "Then come with me... this immortal seems to be with the _armee'_ or the police. He would use the opportunity to end your life."

"I'm not like you _mon ami_. I cannot just sit by and let the world come to me. I have to help. Wasn't it you that taught me that once? Now go home!" She pushed him away slightly with a sad smile.

As another volley rang out, Darius saw one of the students fall. Eleanor raced out to gather him up. But as she did so, one of the shots also found her. She spun in the impact... her eyes met his as the red bloom spread across her bosom. Even as she collapsed, Darius reached for her and called her name. Gathering her up into his arms... he raced back to the shadows... then made his way along the wall to the alley. Once there... Darius reopened the sewer grate and dropped Eleanor into the rushing water below. As she was swept away... he lowered himself and pulled the grate back into place. He hung for a moment, to get his bearings, then dropped and followed the flow of water.

Her body was cast up on a spit of refuse in the darkness. Darius clambered up beside her and sat... catching his breath. He pulled her up into his arms and waited. It had taken her such a long time to come back the last time... when she'd died in the fire... as yet he could sense no spark of returning life. About him he heard the skittering of the hungry rats. He'd have to keep them away...

Once he'd recovered his strength, the immortal gathered Eleanor's body into his arms once more and began splashing through the water in the passages... seeking those which would take them both back to _St. Julien'_s and the secret grove with its hidden spring.

When he felt the spark of life returning to her. He set her body down to await her revival. In the distance, Darius thought he felt another. He rose, staring off into the darkness, aware now that they were being followed.

Behind him Eleanor gasped as she drew in that first breath and then began coughing.

As she sat up, still holding her side. Darius crouched beside her to urge her to get up and moving. "We have to keep moving!" 

"Why?"

"He is coming... the other one... I think he followed us down here."

Eleanor nodded and rose. 

"Are you armed?" Darius asked suddenly, wondering if they would to resort to the rules of the game if the other found them.

"My knife... I fear my sword is likely still on the barricade unless you found my cape...?" she grinned. "Are you?"

"Of course not... We need to go. Let's see if I can remember the best way to get us out of here."

Darius knew the sewers like the back of his hand. He had used them for centuries as a way to travel to distant parts of Paris. It was how he would lose his Watchers occasionally. Of course... he would always re-surface at the church as if he had never left. But he needed to get his bearings and consider what to do, ... if Grayson or some other immortal had followed them down here, then he was hunting for them... They needed to put additional distance between themselves and him... either that or Darius needed to find the closest holy ground. He clasped her hand firmly and pulled her along behind him.

They splashed through the water as they turned left for a short distance, then right, then left again. Darius would feel the walls occasionally, searching for notches or markings that helped him find his way in the darkness. He could still feel the barest sense of another following them. 

Then the following presence faded for a moment. Darius stopped and whispered. "There are some catacombs off to the right. Should we chance those and hope he misses us?"

Eleanor nodded her agreement. In the eerie phosphorescent glow, her face was still etched with pain. Darius knew she was not fully healed. The ground rose beneath their feet and they finally climbed out of the murky water for a time. Soon they were in a small chamber set off from the sewer proper. It looked like a flood had at one time broken down the wall between the catacomb and the sewer so that one could pass from one into the other.

As soon as Darius set foot in the safety of the ancient burial site, Eleanor held up and backed away a step.

"Eleanor... where are you going?" Darius said.

"I'll lead him away... stay still for now... I'll be back later." Then impulsively she leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth. 

For a moment he responded then he held her tightly and whispered. "Stay here with me...here where we will both be safe... trust me to take care of this."

"No... you must trust me to take care of this... I can you know... I can." Before he could stop her, Eleanor pulled loose from his grasp then turned and ran back to where the water still covered the way. 

Darius stared after her retreating form. He started after her... then sensing the other... halted... waiting. Slowly Darius retreated once more to the catacombs... hoping to draw him his way. Whoever this was... he'd deal with him... disable him... leave him here... If it were Grayson... he'd do whatever he had to do to keep Eleanor safe... even rejoin the game. If it was another? Then he might yet find another way out of this situation. The main thing was to draw their pursuer after him... keep him from following her. It worked... the torch came in his direction. The immortal must have sensed the priest.

Within the flickering torchlight Darius saw an Oriental immortal whose face he'd not seen before. The priest centered himself and waited.

"Come out thief... you stole my sword... but as you can see... I have it back. Your head is mine."

Darius shook his head. "I do not know you..."

"But you know my sword!" The immortal lifted a sword that as familiar to Darius as his own arm. It was the sword that, as a boy, he taken from a burial mound where the mountain had fallen near his home. A sword given to him to keep by an old traveling woman he now knew was the ancient immortal Aja. He had given it back to her long ago.

"It may return to claim your life one day," she'd said sadly when he had done so.

In the torchlight Darius stared at the sword and nodded in understanding. "Then it was you in that barrow... buried in the earth." The arm that had flailed at him that long ago day had belonged to an immortal... this immortal.

The man threw back his head and laughed. "It was I who killed Kritis, first born of the ancients. His sword is mine by right! And so are you! And... your little friend back there!"

Darius nodded, he'd have to deal with this one somehow... and quickly. Aja had told him the sword could never hurt him... as long as he held it... would he have to reclaim it here? What would happen once he did so? Within him the voice of the ancients whispered, "_Fear not, reach for it... take it back... accept it once more and this one cannot hurt you. Kill him and make us whole. He will help... our brother longs for us... as we long for him._"

Before Darius could move, Eleanor leapt quickly out of the darkness and threw her knife solidly into the man's back. The knife hit its target! The immortal roared and turned on her as she came at him. He shifted suddenly, and lashed out at her, not with the sword, but with his other arm. He tangled her hair in his hand and forced her to the ground. The sword came sweeping to her neck... then halted, just barely touching her skin.

The immortal met Darius' eyes and laughed. "What's it to be thief. Do you stay where you are and watch me kill her? Or, do you come out of there and face me?"

Darius knew the moment of choice had come. His voice was laced with sadness. "I will come... but first let her go."

The Oriental immortal grinned, "No... you come... then she can stand where you stand now and she can watch me take your head."

Within him the ancients whispered, "_Trust us Darius, he can not hurt you. We will not let him._" Darius nodded, "I will come." He spread his arms wide and stepped forward... off of holy ground.

Yelling, "No!" Eleanor twisted, lashing out with one foot so that she solidly connected with the immortal's gut. The immortal doubled over. Even before Darius could intervene, she leaped into the air and kicked with the other foot to disarm him in one of her teacher Phillip's patented moves. The sword flew into the air, turned and came down pommel first into her waiting hand. She flipped it around and with both hands slashed with all her might at the immortal's neck. The blade sliced cleanly all the way through.

Darius cried out, "No Eleanor!" But it was already done. Sadly Darius retreated from her onto the holy ground of the catacomb. His eyes were closed. Within him... the ancients were wailing. The centuries of peace were lost and they raged in torment and loss... screaming unheard on the wind... except by him. Opening his eyes he watched the quickening take her... knowing it would be as massive as that last one he'd taken... worried as to what it would do.

On and on it went... the earth shook and fire laced along the catacomb and sewer walls... oil on the surface of the water ignited... sparks flickered as moss and algae flamed and died. Finally, the power died away, and he could see her huddled in a pool of water. Darius leaned over her, "Eleanor... are you all right?" He reached to touch her.

Eleanor scrambled away. "Nooo!" she answered. Wild-eyes she stared at him and hissed... baring her teeth. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from Darius to stand flush with a wall. 

Darius slowly took a step toward her. She needed him, now more than ever. He reached for her... inside his mind the ancients still wailed.

Turning to face the wall, she put her hands to her head and moaned, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Eleanor turned and ran, slipping on the wet stones, and into the waters. She ran into the darkness screaming!

Confused, Darius watched her go. He called after her, but heard only the echo of his voice in the darkness. He tried to recall his own sense of euphoria when he had killed the ancient so long ago. There had been one moment of crystal clarity, wherein he'd understood Havron's peace of mind... and then the peace had been with him. There had been no terror... but then... he'd had many quickenings... this was Eleanor's first.

Darius reached down and lifted the sword. "All this for a sword?" He said aloud... wondering why it was this thing so bothered other immortals. He'd seen immortals eye it over the centuries he had carried it. They would stare at it and lick their lips as if that sword were the answer to all their desires. He'd seen a few consumed by it... saying it spoke to them. But Darius had never heard it speak. Even now... it was only a sword. Still... he could not leave it here for someone else to find.

The immortal's corpse, however, he left where it was. The Paris sewers and its inhabitants would deal with it soon enough... already the rats were coming. Darius made his way back through the sewers... and climbed the stair to the secret grove, thinking Eleanor would be there. But she wasn't.

Darius crossed the grove to the spring and stared at the spot where he'd buried the ashes of the ancients. He chuckled, laughing briefly at the absurdity of what had happened. Why had they wanted the other? It made no sense to him. Had they thought that he, with their help could have held him? Evidently Eleanor would need his help, though he was confused as to why she had fled. The ancient's voices within him merely continued to wail mindlessly. He held out the sword, smiling in the familiar feel of it in his hand, even after so many centuries. Reverently he placed it within the healing waters of the spring. Perhaps the power of the stream could cleanse the sword of the blood and the voices that other's heard from it. Perhaps that would help. He sat on the stones, letting the water flow over his hands as he waited a bit for Eleanor. When she did not come, he then returned to his church via the tunnel that ran from under the street between the grove and _St. Julien_.

As darkness had fallen, and the guns went mostly silent, the parishioners had left the church. Darius straightened the chairs and swept the floors... all the while waiting... wondering where she was. Finally weary from the events of the day, he returned to his cell and flung himself into a chair. He closed his eyes and waited. She would come... she would come. 

"_You cannot help her_," whispered the voices in the darkness, finally ceasing their wailing to make sense once more. "_She is lost to us for the moment. Until she can harness the power and control him... he rules her actions._"

"Why can I not help her?" Darius said aloud... breaking the stillness of the night.

"_The other wishes to kill you, child... and she cannot stop him... not yet. He was stronger and more devious than we expected. You and we could have controlled him... but she cannot... not yet._"

"What must I do?"

"_Let her go... for now._" Darius closed his eyes and wept.

Like a hurricane he could sense her coming. She stormed into the church and beat on his door screaming. "Come to me! Come to me now!" She scratched at the door like a cat.

"_You must let her go_."

"Never!" he called to the darkness as he opened the door to face what would come. If she needed his head... he would give it... in that way she would be saved. She reached for him... he did not resist. Eleanor clasped one hand on his throat and then some sense of herself seemed to come once more to her, and she dropped her hand. Grabbing Darius' hand she pulled him behind her through the darkened church. He did not struggle. He came. If this were the only way... he would accept death as he must... she would be safe. Near the door, he became aware of another. Darius' head snapped up sharply, fearful suddenly that it was Grayson.

But out of the shadows stepped Phillip, a friend to Darius and teacher to Eleanor. "Let him go Little Sister! Let him go!" Eleanor dropped Darius' hand and backed away from them both, staggering. She looked at both the immortals, "Help me! I am so lost!" for a moment... she seemed herself again.

Phillip stepped closer, wrapping her in a cloak. "I'm taking you back with me to Niebos. You'll be safe there. I won't let anyone harm you."

Eleanor turned to the priest, "Darius?" She reached for him. "I need you... Come with me..."

"_Let her go!_" the voices insisted within him. "_Darius, for the sake of the future... let her go now! If you go with her... she will kill you and she will be consumed by the guilt. She will be forever lost... as will we. You cannot help her now... let her go. For the sake of the future... for the chance at unity and peace... for all of us... you must let her go._"

So Darius closed his eyes and turned away, while Phillip lead Eleanor out of the church and into a gray dawn. It would be nearly thirty years before he saw her again, thirty years... before he dared hope the future might yet be reclaimed.


	5. Sword of Denial

Part Five: Sword of Denial

He teaches to deny that faintly prays.

Francis Quarles, _A Feast for Worms_

****

Paris, 1862

From _Rue St. Jacques_, Eleanor could hear the sounds of voices raised in hymns of praise. She smiled. Evidently the Easter service at _St. Julien Le Pauvre_ was going well. It sounded as if Darius had a full house.

She'd returned to Paris only in the last week, and had been busy setting up a household and beginning a new life. The young poet she'd met on the boat over to France was charming and dancing attendance on her as if she were the love of his life… and the muse of his inspiration. He'd stopped by each evening to her salon… leaving his card… and mailed her letters filled with poetry sometimes three times a day. Eleanor was quite amused… determining to relax in this life… and see what it had to offer.

But first… she wanted to deal with the old life.

Dressed as she was in the fashion of the day, the hooped skirt and corset… climbing into the sewers did not seem to be a good idea. So she'd waited until she knew Darius would be busy… that people would be around… to gather her key.

She slipped quietly into the vestibule, noting she'd arrived just as he'd begun his sermon. She could hear chairs shift on the stone floor and slight coughs from congregants as he spoke of the miracle of resurrection and the glory of new life. Amused at the duality of his words, she smiled beneath her dark veil… and stepped slowly to the small apse and stood waiting until no one was watching. He could feel her… as she could feel him… and he would know that it was she…

Once Eleanor was certain no one was paying attention to the small woman dressed in dark gray and green in the back of the church… she reached behind the saint's statue and tapped on the stone to retrieve her key. Closing the stone… she secured the key in her muff and slowly made her way out. The usher at the door bowed to her… although she could see questions in his eyes as to why she'd come so late and was leaving so quickly.

Eleanor had never felt comfortable here. She couldn't begin to explain to this mortal what being here felt like… how even now she thought she could hear rumbles deep in the earth. Her last time here had not been a good one. Even now she could see and feel what it would be like to kill a friend… tear him limb from limb and rejoice in his death.

"_Clear your mind and focus!_" Edward's words came back to her… so she focused, and continued on her way… "down the street… across the street… around the block." The litany of tactics helped her to focus, "Return… check for Watchers." Finally she entered the covered arched passage between the two dwellings that made up the ground floor of the building which hid the grove… and the spring.

Eagerly she turned the key in the lock and opened the grilled iron gate, stepping at last on the velvety green carpet of grass. She closed her eyes and breathed in the mossy scent of the grove. A dozen trees… stunted a bit, provided a shady canopy over her. Four stone walls rose three stories about her; the upper levels filled with windows that stared blankly on the surrounding world. She could hear the water bubbling at the spring and the sounds of insects and birds all about her.

Eleanor closed the gate and moved toward the spring… smiling in the welcome she felt. This was one of the old holy places… one that had been holy long ago… one of the few she'd found which did not frighten her. Darius had built the walls to protect the spring. He'd asked her to help him guard it long ago. "_Keep it safe!_" he'd begged. "_Tell no one._" She never had… and she never would.

Even through the sessions with Edward and Phillip where she'd unburdened her soul about many things in an effort to come to grips with the force of personality of Kae Dhun, the immortal whose quickening she'd taken, she had never spoken of this place.

A whisper sounded in her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch.

Blinking, she shook her head to clear her thoughts… thinking only good thoughts… quiet thoughts. She needed to meet with Darius and apologize for wanting to kill him. It wasn't she who wanted him dead… but the voice within her that she had not yet fully integrated into her personality.

"_Perhaps living so long without entering the game caused this,_" Edward had suggested. "_You have to face his personality and deal with each thought he throws at you. You have to hold true to yourself when you do so_." His strong hands had rested lightly on her shoulders as he'd stood behind her… forcing her to concentrate and center herself.

Phillip had agreed, "_I'd have had you start with someone not quite so old and powerful, if I'd known. We were never meant to live without the game._" He was crouched near her… as much a guard as a guardian to prevent her from giving in to the chaos in her mind. Together they worked with her. Together they kept her in this world by reminding her of all the things the three of them had done over the centuries, and of the bonds of friendship which transcended even the game.

Even so, neither of them understood, not really. She'd not entered the game for the first few hundred years of her life because it hadn't felt right. If she could slip back on the perimeter and just watch and observe… she'd shrugged and been willing to. Oh she'd known she'd have to kill… but if she could avoid it… she did. Then she'd met Darius. His words of peace had echoed strangely in her soul… as if they were words she'd heard before in some other life and had ignored.

And then he'd kissed her. Oh… he'd never admitted that it was him behind the mask that night. And he never had again in all their time together… not like that… but he'd laughed and joked… and been her friend for all the years she was here. He'd held her when she grieved for the deaths of those around her… he'd walked the night with her and danced sometimes at bonfires about the city. And she'd given up hoping for anything more. She'd been content in the easy way they had with one another… two old friends who loved one another… but had chosen other paths for their lives.

It didn't matter. Perhaps it was better to have a friend… than another lover. "_Immortal relationships are complicated enough_," she thought. At least hers with Edward was. They were lovers… but only now and then. She'd learned a long time ago his eye would wander and he'd leave her to move on. She had no problems with that. After all… they weren't married anymore… not really. She never stopped him and she was never jealous. Eleanor was determined not to hold onto him in any way. To hold onto him meant she cared about him. To be jealous meant she was hurt by his sometimes callous ways… and she denied that she felt either emotion. Besides… if they were apart… then she didn't have to worry about killing him… or about him killing her. His words from long ago remained a mantra in her mind even more than the ones he'd taught her these last thirty years. "_Lovers kill lovers!_" Despite it all… they persisted in an on-again off-again relationship.

This last time, he'd taken her places and shown her civilizations around the world… ones she'd never before seen. They'd descended through Africa and sailed to India. From there they'd journeyed to the Orient and then down through Southeast Asia into Australia. It was there, one balmy evening, that his eye was caught by a lovely, blue-eyed blonde passing through the square. He'd followed her movements and sighed. Then he'd glanced at Eleanor guiltily. She'd smirked and shrugged and traveled on without him… leaving him to his new mortal love. He was his own man, as he always was. And Eleanor had needed to be certain she could manage on her own. She hadn't been entirely alone since Phillip had taken her to Niebos in 1832. It was past time for her to see if what her friends had taught her could help her live her life as she always had. And… it was time to face Darius once more.

The long Pacific voyage had brought her again to South America, and it was there that she'd begun to think of Paris again as she'd stared at old ruins hidden beneath the creeping growth of the jungle. Once thoughts of Paris and Darius crossed her mind… she'd closed her eyes and felt him… She knew exactly where he was… and what he was doing. She could see him sweep the stone floor of the church and glance around, as if feeling her. Then he'd shake his head and continue his duties.

The moment had been short and swift. But she'd made rubbings of the stones… letting the ancient symbols of some long dead people appear in charcoal on the thin paper. She'd rolled the papers into a tube and stowed it to bring home with all the other things she'd found on this her latest journey. It was the word home that decided it for her. Eleanor made her way to the coast and via the Caribbean… came home.

She'd met Charles on the Atlantic voyage. He was transfixed on her green eyes… and mesmerized by her secretive and aloof nature. He'd followed about the promenade of the schooner… spouting poetry. Quite good poetry! There was a chance there for something, perhaps. So she'd set up a household in one of the better neighborhoods of Paris, fully determined to throw herself into a new life without strings which tied her to the old ones… and see what would happen.

But first… Eleanor had to sever one last tie. She had the artifacts bundled and crated and ready to ship to Darius… but wanted one last meeting with him. Here… on the only holy ground she'd ever felt safe on… she wanted to bid him _adieu_.

As she approached the spring, the whisper of something sinister and insistent grew louder. The itch in her mind became a burning as something begged for her to pay attention. Eleanor settled on the rocks, removed her gloves, and leaned over to dip one hand into the water to refresh herself.

And that was when she saw it.

Beneath the surface of the water was Kae Dhun's sword… gleaming redly in the filtered light of day. "_Use me_!" it seemed to whisper.

Eleanor stared at it hungrily and then backed away, terrified. Within her the voice of Kae Dhun crowed triumphantly. "_Take it! Use it! The sword is ours! Kill the thief!_"

"Noooo!" Eleanor's hands rose to her head as she stumbled back… away from the spring. "How could you bring that thing here?" Her voice broke in sobs. She had to get out of here… She had to leave before he came. She still needed to see him… but not today… not here… not now!"

Dropping the key to the grass Eleanor turned and fled back into the safety of the surrounding crowds milling about the streets of Paris on this Easter Sunday. It would be a week before she was fully in control of her thoughts again. It would be another month before she wrote Darius and shipped him the artifacts. And it would be July before she dared to arrange a meeting with him… face to face… publicly… in the Luxembourg Gardens… where there was no danger of hurting him. And it would be fifty years before she dared to enter the grove again.

-----

****

Paris, 13 April, 1912

"Confession is good for the soul," mused Darius as he sat back in the dark stuffy booth and fingered the silk fringe of his purple confessional stole. He was bored. The sins of his parishioners had long ago ceased to be entertaining or even new. Darius sighed. Perhaps, Eleanor was right, it _was_ time for him to move on. "What real good do I do here any more," he grumbled under his breath.

Thankfully the last one had left and there appeared to be a pause. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He hadn't slept well last night. He'd had a nightmare in which the terrified screams of the dying had surrounded him. It had been many years since the last time he'd dreamed of his former life. Although this dream had been steeped in images he'd failed to understand.

He was standing on a surface that had gradually tilted as if it were a hillside while around him people had fallen and attempted to hold on and crawl upward to the night. All around was darkness. He'd climbed the surface easily while all about him slid as if falling into the depths of hell. When he'd reached the apex… he was aware only of the screams in the darkness… and the knowledge that the surface was sliding inexorably downward into the mouth of hell. Not all of his good works… not all of the atonement he'd focused on for three times the amount of time he'd spent as a murderer… would save him. The cold, wet darkness rushed toward him and closed over his head. He breathed in salt water… and died.

Upon awakening… he'd felt only a great sense of sorrow and his duties this day had not lessened that feeling.

"I should have gone with you," he whispered to the dark of the confessional. He opened his copy of **_Les Miserables_** and in the dim light through the screen he began to read… letting his memories of another time and another place… when life had still held promise… even in the face of chaos and depression.

"_Peré!_"

Darius looked up as _Madame_ Breton entered at a fast clip, crying out urgently for him. Closing the book, Darius opened the door of the booth and called out to her.

Madame crossed herself and genuflected in the aisle quickly before crossing into the confessional area. "_Per_ Darius it is most horrible!"

"Calm down _Madame_," he said with a broad smile and reached out to reassure her. "Tell me what has happened."

My son, Gaston… you remember Gaston… such a good boy."

"Has something happened to Gaston?"

"_Non, Per_." _Madame _shook her head, raising one hand to her brow. "He works at the docks in Calais."

Darius nodded and waited.

"The ship has gone down."

For a moment the cold hand of his dream reached out and clutched at Darius' heart. "What ship?"

"Oh…" _Madame_ covered her mouth with both hands. "The English ship… **_Titanic_**." She began to sob. "Gaston helped load that ship just a few days ago. So big it was… so grand."

"What happened?"

"_Glacier_! Iceberg!" she said horrified.

Darius stared at her. At the door of the church more were coming. They came at times of great death… as if to assuage their guilt at escaping catastrophe. They came to seek comfort in one another. They came to gather in community and wail at the fates. "How many?" he asked _Madame_ Breton fearfully.

She shook her head. "Some say all… some say a few were saved. It is said over fifteen hundred drowned."

Darius closed his eyes. As in the dream… he could hear the fifteen hundred souls about him in the darkness… screaming as the **_Titanic_ **slipped with a shudder into the icy cold waters of the ocean. Once more he felt the cold wet grab him by the throat and he tasted the brine as he breathed it in.

"_Per_… you are all right?"

Darius opened his eyes. "We will say a mass for the dead. Excuse me, _Madame_ Breton. I must prepare." The immortal priest withdrew to his quarters and closed the door. He crossed to his desk and laid his head in his hands as he forced himself to relieve the dream one more time… each step of it… each sensation… each sound… each prayer lifted to a god who did not seem to hear. His shoulders sagged in the overwhelming sorrow that filled him to overflowing. "So much life… so much waste," he whispered softly… wondering how it was that such things still happened in this world.

He'd walked the earth for almost nineteen hundred years, still a youngster compared to some he knew, but he doubted even they would have answers. He lowered his hands and forced himself to clear his mind. Despair was a useless emotion. His parishioners needed hope and guidance… and somehow he had to find it within himself.

He'd risen to change into vestments when his eyes fell on the envelope Eleanor had left him last week before she left.

-----

"It's a ticket, silly."

"A ticket to what?"

"To America."

"You are going back then?" She'd only returned to France about two years before from America, where she'd been since the late 1870's, having gone initially with Phillip in an eagerness to get away from Paris. She'd been here only about eight years that time… and he'd seen her twice in those eight years. When she'd returned two years ago… he'd found her on one of the benches in the small cemetery attached to the old church.

"I missed you," he'd teased as he settled beside her.

"I missed you more." There was a calm about her he'd not noticed the last time… as if her demons finally slept.

"So… where have you been all this time?"

"With Edward." She smiled and laughed. "_I_ left him this time."

Darius had raised an eyebrow. "One of you always leaves."

Eleanor shrugged. "One of us always knows when the time comes. It's part of our unspoken agreement over the centuries."

"Perhaps one day neither of you will leave."

She'd laughed… and Darius could hear the tinkling bells of her laughter… a sound which brought peace to his heart.

"Do you need the key?"

She looked at him sadly and shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

She'd met his gaze and seen the fear there. "It's… you…" she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Eleanor I cannot help you if you don't explain."

Rising she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I can't… not yet. I have to go." She'd turned and swiftly left without a backward glance, leaving him to wonder.

Over the two years before she'd left last week… she'd stopped by the garden and spoken with him there… refusing to enter either the church or to meet him at the grove… perhaps a dozen times. Each time she stayed only minutes… and had said little.

The last time… last week… he'd found her laying flowers on Rachelle Brunot's grave. "She should have live a long life Darius. She died… saving my life."

"You dealt with this centuries ago, Eleanor. It does no good to live in the past. You must move on."

She'd met his gaze with a knowing smile. "You're right of course. Here." She handed him the envelope.

"A ticket to America?" he'd asked laughing. "What would I do with that?"

"Come with me."

He slipped the ticket back into the envelope without looking at it. "We have had this discussion before. My place is here." He tried to hand it back to her.

She refused to take it, shaking her head. "I bought it for you. I'm not asking you to _be_ with me… but just to go with me. I cannot stay here in Paris. There's just too many memories. Every street… every building… every garden path… everywhere I look… I feel you here. And the fear I carry that I will end your life if you stay here terrifies me."

"All the more reason I should stay," he'd tried to tease her.

She shook her head. "You'll die if you stay. Use the ticket Darius. Come with me to America. Take the chance. See all the parts of the world your heart desires. Leave this life. It's past time you did so."

"I can't"

"Why not?"

Darius had closed his eyes and shaken his head. He did not clearly know how to explain. He was here because when he'd killed the Ancient Immortal at the gates of Paris and taken his quickening, he'd accepted the Ancient One's mission to be a beacon of peace. He was here because he wanted to solve the clues of the past… understand what it was that the ancients had done that had set the game in motion. He wanted to end the game. Eighty years ago he'd been ready to accept the destiny lain on his shoulders to unite the ancients. That had failed. The only path he still saw open in that regard, was the one he most feared… He feared that in killing him… Eleanor would be lost to madness. If he left with her… it would happen… and Eleanor would be lost in the overwhelming guilt that would follow. "Trust me… I can't go."

"I've bought the ticket. I'll meet you there… on the docks… in Calais." She'd turned and left. As she'd left the church grounds, she'd looked over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. "Hurry… I'll miss you." Then, with a little wave and a blown kiss, she was gone.

-----

Now in his cell… in the aftermath of the **_Titanic's_** sinking, Darius held the envelope in his hand and turned it over… slowly drawing the ticket out and opening it up. "**_H.M.S. Titanic_**," it read. He closed his eyes as once more… the screams of the dying surrounded him.

-----

Dressed in his woolen trousers and coat over his linen shirt, the peaked hat pulled low over his eyes, Darius had dared to be out and about Paris in daylight. The names of **_Titanic's_** dead were being posted at the newspaper office… as were the names of the rescued. He forced his way through the milling crowd to peer at the list… seeking a familiar name.

With a sudden realization he was uncertain what name she'd be using. His ticket had been Second Class and he assumed hers would have been as well. Swiftly he ran his finger down the list of names indicating Second Class Passengers… Female… survivors. He saw no name that he recognized. Fearfully he turned to the other sheets of foolscap… the ones with the list of the lost. Most of those names were in Third Class. He moved past those and found the much shorter list of names of those lost in Second Class… he still saw no name that he knew for certain. "What name did you use?" he thought desperately as he stepped back… his eyes taking in at a glance the enormity of over fifteen hundred names of the dead.

He'd drowned once. It was his second death. He'd been trapped in the cold depths of the Black Sea for four years once, before his body had floated free of the wreck, and he'd revived. Time had meant nothing to him except that when he'd returned to the village on the shores and learned how much time he'd lost, he'd lashed out at the people there. He'd focused his rage and anger at having lost four years of life on innocents who'd had no part in the storm that had sunk the ship. He could still see the faces of each of them as he'd killed them… every living soul in a village of sixty-seven. Even the infants. He'd killed them all and set fire to the buildings until nothing remained. Perhaps if he'd been older… he wouldn't have lashed out at them for having lived the last four years that had been denied to him.

"Were you aboard?" he wondered as he pulled back and let others in the crowd close in to read the names on the sheets of paper. He wondered idly… and a bit uncharitably… if they knew anyone aboard… or if they were merely curious.

Turning away, he slipped his hands into the deep pockets of his trousers so that he slumped slightly as he walked away. He needed to get back… and yet he found himself crossing the _Pont St. Michel_ to the _Isle de la Cit_… and Notre Dame. He stood on the square where once long ago the bonfires had been lit… and the workers and gypsies had danced in celebration… where he'd once almost changed his destiny.

"She will be back," he told himself. "It may take years. But she'll find a way." Eventually, as evening fell, he crossed back over the _pont_… and slipped into the sewers in the gathering gloom. That night… and for the next several… he lit a candle for Eleanor… that she might find her way out of the darkness… and return home.

-----

****

22 April, 1912

Darius had found the last week wearying. His parishioners had moved through their grief and disbelief… none of them had actually known any of the drowned passengers… and were once more focused on their daily lives. Darius, naturally, had made no mention of his own loss. After all, he was not certain Eleanor had drowned… but he believed it. If she had been among the survivors… she'd have sent word somehow. The survivors had been taken to America… but he'd read in the paper how many had cabled relatives in Great Britain… or on the continent.

The majority of the dead had been third class passengers. They'd likely been crowded into the bowels of the ship… even so grand a ship as the **_Titanic_**… and had been trapped when the ship had sunk. He'd sent one of the altar boys to buy papers each day and scoured through the stories.

Darius'd had no further dreams… but the more he read… the more certain he was that his dream had been of the disaster. Somehow he'd been on that ship… and had seen its final moments… and felt the Atlantic close over his head as he'd been drawn into her depths. It had been too real and too specific. Nor was it the first time he'd had visions. There were moments in his life when he'd had the barest sensation of events in other parts of the world… or events that had not happened. He'd always had them… even when he'd been very small. Was that why Anya… Aja… had selected him and given him the sword? Was that why Havron had elected to die? Darius shook his head. The Ancients made comments sometimes… but seldom did they ever truly explain anything. And on this subject… they remained silent.

He'd finished up for the day and once darkness fell and the church was closed for the night… he'd slipped over to the grove and sat at the well. He had no interest in the artifacts upstairs this night. He had no interest in much of anything. "I should have gone with you," he whispered to the darkness. "I should have been with you when you died." That she would be back he knew… but how long… how long?

Feeling an immortal and hearing the lock turn in the gate, and the creak of the hinges as the gate opened… Darius held his breath. Then he saw her small dark figure… barely a shadow in the darkness… and he rose eagerly to embrace her as she fled into his arms.

-----

Darius rolled over on his back and forced his breathing to calm the throbbing in his body. He couldn't do this. Not here! Not now!

Eleanor sat up to lean over him curiously. "Why did you stop? You want this… I know it! And so do I."

He closed his eyes. He could fell her hand on his chest… already easing once more through his opened cassock to reach his skin. Darius clasped her hand… held it up and kissed it. "No," he said once more.

She pulled her hand from his. "Why not? It's long past time you left here. This life you persist in makes no sense to any of us. What is here that you cannot find elsewhere?" she asked… turning his words to her from long ago. Tears burned in her eyes. Her voice broke in a sob. "Why can't we go somewhere else and have a chance for a real life together."

Darius sat up and let out a great sigh as he adjusted his garments. It had been so fast and so unexpected… that sudden kiss and then he'd eased her to the ground and in that moment had been fully focused on loving her. Her lips had latched onto his and her hands had torn at his clothes even as his had torn at hers. Just as suddenly… he'd realized this had to stop and had rolled away. "Trust me, Eleanor. I have to remain here. And if I remain… I have to be true and honest in the rules of the life I live. I can't live two lives… it would destroy me… Saying one thing… presenting one face to the world while hiding away…"

"You do that anyway," she cried. "You always know more about what is going on here than you let anyone know. You hide behind masks and costumes. Isn't this…" she lifted one cuff of sleeve, "… just one more?"

"Perhaps. But until the time is right… here I am and here I stay."

"Why?"

"Eleanor, you have to trust me. My leaving here with you is not a good idea."

"I'm better. I love you."

Darius shook his head. "Now who is lying."

Eleanor turned away.

He continued. "Desire and love are different things. Love is a complex emotion that requires loss of self and submission to another. Can you do that?"

"I love you," she insisted once more.

He lay one hand on her dark hair… noting its tangled nature. "I only wish it were so."

Turning suddenly she kissed him insistently, her hands once more seeking his skin beneath his clerical garb. For a moment it was so easy. He could kiss her back and then… and then… Darius pulled away sadly. "I want to show you something."

Rising he led her to the spring. "Can you see it?"

Eleanor's eyes were focused on the sword still lying as if newly made in the water of the spring. She closed them and shuddered. "I know… I've always known."

Darius leaned down and withdrew the blade… brandishing it expertly as something made for his hand. For a moment… again… it seemed so easy. He could take this sword up again and re-enter the world with Eleanor at his side. Then he saw her eyes… glittering as she followed the sword's movements… her tongue licked dryly over her lips. Already it called to her.

Darius held it out to her. Eleanor's hands reached for it… stopping only inches from it. Her fists balled up and she stepped back. "I don't want that thing."

"Yes you do," Darius insisted. It might be the only way to make things perfectly clear to her. Better to hurt her now… before things progressed too far… rather than later. He lay the sword against her neck.

She shut her eyes. "It's holy ground… you can't… not here."

Darius nodded. Eyeing the hidden entrance to the sewer, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. "Then we'll go where it is not holy ground and see what happens"

"No!" Eleanor tried to free her hand and held back… trying to stop him and be free. "You can't!"

Opening the entrance he pulled her down the slope to the raging torrent of water and sewage and cast her before him… releasing his grip on her hand. "Here," he said harshly and held it out once more. "Take it and use it… or I will."

Eleanor stared at the sword in the darkness… within her Kae Dhun roared in triumph. "_He offers it to us! Take it! Use it! He's a fool!_" Part of Eleanor agreed with that.

"_Lovers kill lovers_," she seemed to hear Edward… Methos… say long ago. "_Teachers kill students… students kill teachers… and lovers kill lovers. Until there is only one._"

"This is what you want. I see it in your eyes."

"No," Eleanor shook her head drawing back.

"If I leave with you… if we are together in any other capacity… this is what will lie between us."

"No."

"Until you can look at this thing and see what I see… that a sword is only a sword… no matter how old it is or who once used it… there can be nothing more."

"No," Eleanor's voice broke as the tears tacked across her cheeks.

"Either take it and use it… or leave. I made a choice for my life long ago. That choice did not include you. I make it again."

"No…" By this time Eleanor was sobbing. "I won't kill you! No matter what he says… I won't. I do love you… I do." She brushed past him and re-climbed the slope into the garden, hearing him follow and close the door.

"You're wrong, Darius!" she turned on him angrily. "I do know love. And I love you… and no matter what you say… I know you love me too." She pushed at him and then backed away. "If you stay here… you will die!"

"It is a foregone conclusion. It was the fate I accepted long before you were ever born."

"Then you're a fool!" she screamed. "We don't have to die! We don't have to kill! We can find a place… life could be good."

Darius shrugged. "Hiding there or hiding here… it's all the same. The only way to survive is to face and embrace our destiny."

"Destiny!" Eleanor screamed once more turning and pacing. "I give that…" she snapped her fingers, "for all the destiny in the world."

"You wouldn't say that if you understood."

"Then explain it to me!"

Darius' mouth worked open and shut. Finally he shook his head. "I don't understand it all myself. It's in those artifacts and rubbings you keep bringing me. It's in the writing on the cavern walls. It's in your relationship with Methos."

Eleanor turned angrily away and swiped one hand against a bush… wishing she had that sword and could use it. She stormed for some moments… screaming her frustration. Beneath her the ground seemed to groan… awakened by her state of mind.

"See what you've done! Now even this place rejects my presence!"

"I have done nothing but speak the truth," Darius answered back sharply.

"Truth? You are lying to yourself even if you think it's the truth." Eleanor backed away. "Stay then… stay here and be a priest… cowering on holy ground… waiting for the death that will surely come! And it will come. And it won't be me who does it… I won't kill you! Why won't you trust that I won't?" She turned and stormed out of the grove.

Darius sadly watched her leave. Then he replaced the sword in the pool of water and stared at. "A sword is just a sword," he whispered. It was hers… it wasn't his… he needed no sword. Never again. Here it would lie and wait for the day she reclaimed it. She would one far-off day… he could almost see it. Eleanor would claim the sword when she was ready to let it go… and it would pass beyond her… even as it had passed beyond him. He doubted he'd live to see that day.

He locked the gate, returning her key to the wall's access. Then he'd knelt at the altar rail and prayed as he had not done so for a long time… Darius prayed to all the gods of light and darkness… that the future would come… that the end of the game would happen… not with there being only one… but with all immortals joined in a sense of community. He felt the mantle of responsibility settle once more on his shoulders, and he accepted it humbly. "I will be the beacon for the future. Here I will remain until the end." He smiled and chuckled. "But don't ask me not to regret even a little the choice I've made." Darius sighed. "I choose the future for all of us… rather than one for me."

Rising… he returned to his cell and snuffed the candles burning there. It might be years before Eleanor began to understand and forgive him. Meanwhile… he had much to do. For the first time in years… he was actually looking forward to his duties here. Perhaps the secret lay in focusing on one life… one day at a time. He'd thought so once. Perhaps he needed to regain that mindset to help him through the days to come… the endless and unchanging days of immortality.

Epilogue: Sword of the Future

Enough, if something from our hands have power

to live and act, and serve the future hour;

and if, as toward the silent tomb we go,

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,

We feel that we are greater than we know.

from _The RiverDuddon_ by William Wordsworth

****

Cairo, November 1915

She paused momentarily in the rolling of bandages, as she sat near the bed of the dying Englishman and knew she could do nothing. Glancing up at the familiar presence of Methos, Eleanor smiled weakly… and then returned to rolling bandages… hiding her face beneath the wimpole of her nurse's uniform.

"And how is this man, Sister?" he asked. Eleanor nearly laughed aloud at his slipshod upper crust English accent… wandering a bit as he tried to be heard as only as the English lieutenant he pretended to be.

"His wounds are severe, sir," she said quietly, properly. Her superior had chastised her recently for misspeaking to some of the officers regarding their men and their wounds.

"Walk with me."

Eleanor stared up at him wide-eyed… hearing in his words something of the old barbarian he claimed to have been once. It was not a tone she'd ever heard him use… at least on her.

"As you wish." She rose, leaned over to check her patient, breathing easily for now. She waved to one of the others to indicate she was being called away and walked demurely down the ward at Edward's side. "How did you find me?" she asked as they passed through the double doors and out onto the wide covered walkway between the hospital bungalows.

"I walked in and there you were. Really, Eleanor… I have no ulterior motives."

She snorted.

"I don't. Why do you never trust me?"

Eleanor hesitated and turned to face him… staring into his thin face, aware of the mustache over his upper lip and his slick-backed hair. How different he was from the last time she'd seen him… and how much the same. If she closed her eyes she could feel his presence like some great keening cry… different from all the others she'd ever felt. Some part of her even now wanted to respond to that cry… yield to it. But it was too soon. "The day you trust me," she finally said.

"I have trusted you. You know my name."

"But do I know you… the you that exists behind all the masks you wear? I think not." Eleanor turned to leave, suddenly aware of his hand on her arm. Within her flared the old hatred to destroy that hand. She sighed. She would not give into that. It simmered too closely to the surface these days.

In the shadows, her superior cleared her throat. It was forbidden for the nursing staff to be bothered by even the officers. They were never to be alone with them. Eleanor stepped back and smiled, "I have work to do."

That night she attended one of the galas the British Army loved to put on. It wasn't that she wanted to be here… it was just that the superintendent of nurses had ordered all but the night staff to attend. "The officers would like ladies to dance with. And we shall all be proper English ladies."

Edward was here as well, and it wasn't long before he managed a dance… a waltz with her. Afterwards they both applauded politely as he escorted her to the buffet for a glass of punch. It was while sipping it that word came that the regiments would be leaving on the morrow for the shores of Gallipoli.

"Damn!" Edward said under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Gallipoli is a deathfront. I know… I've led forces against that coast in ages past. Thousands will die on both sides."

Eleanor caught a tone of immense sadness in his voice, and wondered at it. "Which side were you on? The right side or the wrong?"

He eyed her with a smug expression. "My dear girl… whatever side I was on… _was _the right side." He winked.

They managed to slip out during the revelry of patriotic songs that followed. He pulled her along behind him. "I want to show you something before I have to leave."

Eleanor pulled her long skirts up slightly to follow as she stumbled along behind him. Her nurse's wimpole slid from her head. She caught it as it fell and carried it wadded up in one hand.

Methos led her beyond the encampment and out onto the desert where the pyramids rose as shadows against the night sky. When they'd reached the largest of them… he led her into the small opening… stopping only to light a torch and reach back to clasp her hand. "Hurry… it won't last long."

As they walked… crouching in the confined space of the tunnel, Eleanor could feel the holiness of this place about her… like that of the grove. The pyramid had been built upon one of the ancient sites. Concerned as to whether she was welcome here, Eleanor shuddered fearfully. If anything happened here… the pyramid might collapse and bury them both for all time. Even now, the weight of all that stone seemed to press down on her and make her feel as if she were a part of the earth. Methos' presence seemed to echo and re-echo off of the stones until the keening became a roar as though thousands of voices chanted in an ever louder voice. The temperature rose and the hot air of the desert night became stuffy and moist in the closed spaces of the pyramid.

"Hurry… we're almost there." He led ahead, his hand holding fast to hers. Finally the dark space opened out and they were in a small room… far beneath the desert sands. "Look up," Methos said.

Eleanor gazed up as he lowered the torch… wondering what was so important. And then she saw it… the light of one bright star peering through a small hole far above. She gasped.

"Did you build this?"

"I helped."

"You designed this… why?"

"To stand here and see the stars as they were meant to be seen. A single star can banish the night… no matter how far away it is." He extinguished the torch. For a moment the darkness rushed in and filled everywhere. Eleanor gasped at its sudden and complete existence. Then… the light of that one star seemed to banish the edges of the night. Eleanor seemed to stand in a shaft of light. She felt Methos' hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

"I wanted you to know… that no matter how dark the world gets… one star… one dream… one candle… can defeat the night. There is always hope."

Turning to Methos she reached for him. "Love me here. Love me now." His arms surrounded her and his mouth crushed against hers. They sank to the sandy stone floor and in the light of one star made love.

The starlight faded. And there was only the darkness. In the darkness… Eleanor thought of Darius even as she made love to Methos. In her mind it was the priest who'd finally come to her and was here with her. For a moment she sensed him truly here… and there… in Paris… in the dark… as she was here in the dark. Tears fell as she pulled away at last.

"Who was he?" Methos asked. His hand held one of her bare breasts.

"No one," she lied. 'No one of any importance."

"He has to be important or your mind wouldn't have been on him instead of me."

"Doesn't matter," she said brushing his hand away and fumbling for her clothes. "I have to get back. As it is… the superintendent is likely ready to have my head."

"That would be quite a show." His mocking laughter grated on her in the darkness. The heat had returned… if it had ever left. "Now tell me about him… or I won't re-light the torch." His mocking tease dispelled the magic of the moment.

Eleanor stared into the darkness. If she told him… what would he do. If she admitted loving another… would he be jealous or would he even care. Would he kill Darius? Or would Darius kill him? Eleanor shuddered… unable to face what might happen. _Friends kill friends!_ "He was just another immortal. He's dead. He's dead and buried." In a way, it was the truth… her hopes for a life with Darius were dead and buried.

Methos sighed. "I'd thought maybe you'd finally loved one of your mortals… that you'd finally let the walls around your heart fall and had dared to truly love. You really should try it sometime. I've loved each of mine… and let them go in their time. All mortals die, Eleanor. All we can do is love them while they live. Accept what they offer. And mourn them when they're gone. I don't think you've ever truly loved a mortal before. I fear that until you do… you'll never really know love."

Eleanor laughed. "What? Did you think that you were the only man I ever loved? Silly Methos!" she teased and leaned in to kiss him… still lying on the sand. For a moment she considered remaining. Instead she sat back. "About the torch?"

"Very well. You really are the most exasperating creature I've ever known. Is it any wonder I don't have long-range relationships with any other immortal female? I fear they'd all be like you… and one of you in my life is more than enough." Nevertheless, he lit the torch. By that time, Eleanor had composed her face. She seemed uncaring and uninterested in him once more.

Methos led the way out and Eleanor followed. "Edward…" she asked, slipping into the old name. "Whatever happened to that sword you had when I first knew you?"

"I gave it away."

"Why?"

She saw his shoulders sag in the tunnel. "It wanted more from me than I wanted to give."

Eleanor laughed lightly but her eyes burned with an inner fire. "You speak as if it were alive."

"Perhaps it was. Why all these questions about a sword I carried eleven hundred years ago?" He stopped and turned back to peer at her in the torchlight.

Shrugging, Eleanor shook her head. "No reason. I was just thinking about the time I could have taken your head so long ago. I often wondered what happened to that sword."

Methos stared thoughtfully at her. "Did it speak to you?"

Eleanor laughed. "Silly Methos, a sword is just a sword. Now lead the way. You've shown me your star chamber and I have to get back before my reputation for this life is utterly ruined." She pushed at him and waved him on.

"_Did it speak to you_?" he'd asked her. Eleanor feared to tell him what it had said… what it had offered… even centuries before Kae Dhun had filled her mind with his wishes and desires.

"_I am the justice of the people. The immortal who uses me will have the power of all immortals to re-make the world_." Eleanor brushed the thought away. "You lie old sword. I was never meant to wield you… and I never will."

Soon they emerged into the desert night and saw the panoply of stars above them. On the horizon… the crescent moon rose.

They held hands… fingers laced together as they returned to the encampment. At the edge of the hospital quarter Methos raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'll see you in another lifetime." Then he dropped her hand and walked away.

Eleanor chuckled. This evening had calmed her demons a bit. But calling after him… following him was not the answer. She needed to face her demons… and she needed to conquer them. Until she learned to stand alone… she could not stand with him… or with anyone. Squaring her shoulders she headed toward the nurses' barracks and the tongue-lashing she was certain was awaiting her.

****

Author's Notes:

As stated at the beginning… this was an attempt to go back to other events in my stories and see them through other eyes. This group of stories was meant primarily to explain the **Sword of Power** that Derrick now holds in the modern day. (PH, SS, ALH)

Between 1912 and when Eleanor finally retrieved it in 2003, she did not touch it. Between 1912 and 1965, she did not even dare to return to the grove. Only after then was she strong enough to ignore both it and the voice Kae Dhun, still urging her to kill Darius for him. (PRM, PH)

The sword, initially given to D'jann at the dawn of time by an elder immortal, passed to Kritis, eldest of the firstborn who used it to kill D'jann and others of their people and paid for his crimes with long centuries of madness.(PH, SS) He offered both his head and the sword to "the lady's boy" his sister Aja's foundling (CoT) when Methos arrived on his doorstep for training, sent by Havron, Aja's beloved. (PH, SS) Methos refused. Kae Dhun used the opportunity to slip in and claim the sword and Kritis' head… but the massive quickening drove him mad and buried him deep under the earth.

He awoke when the boy Ulrich (later Darius) pulled it from his hands… Kae Dhun determined to be free once more, retrieve his sword, and kill the boy. Ulrich gave the sword to the woman he knew as Anya (Aja) who had intended to offer it once more to Methos. Instead, she gave it to Ulrich to keep until he had no need of it. After his first death, Ulrich believed it was the sword that made him immortal until he met his first teacher. (PH, SS)

He carried it in battle, noting that other immortals often looked at it with hungry eyes… as if it were something important. He lost it only once… and that was to Phillip, an immortal who'd trained with the oracle Danae (Aja in another disguise). Darius won the sword back in a game of chance devised by Methos, attempting to be certain that Phillip did not retain the sword… nor that Methos himself would have to claim it. The three immortals struck up a friendship that lasted for two thousand years. (LoBJoW, PH, SS, ALH)

When Darius used the sword to take the head and quickening of the Ancient One at the gates of Paris (Havron)... he realized he had no further need of the sword… and returned it to Anya when she passed through Paris. (SS) Anya, in her guise as The Lady of the Lake, thrust the sword into anvil and stone… for Methos to retrieve.

Once more Methos refused the sword, and the sword passed into the hands of Artos, a mortal who became King Arthur. After Arthur's death, Merlin (O ro' dred) reclaimed the sword for Aja. Merlin's love, Nimue (the immortal Nin) asked to hold it instead… that she might protect O ro' dred from other immortals. Aja agreed, but the sword drove Nin mad.

O ro' dred bade Methos to hold it for a while, to give the immortal time to help Nin learn to ignore the sword's siren call. Methos agreed and carried it for a time. During that time, he visited the court of King Cinaed (Kenneth) of Scotland and met the pre-immortal Aella who reminded him of Aja. (CoT)

Once Aella had become immortal, Methos trained her. She wrested the sword from him once and nearly took his head. Refraining… she left both the sword and Methos behind. (CoT) Methos returned the sword to O ro' dred's care.

The immortal took the sword to Avalon and there it remained until Kae Dhun, having escaped the mountain, came for it. He killed O ro' dred and Nin but was trapped in Avalon.

Meanwhile, Aella became Phillip's student and met Methos once again. Methos and Phillip, hoping to lure Darius off of holy ground and once more into the game… sent Aella to Paris. (LoBJoW) Instead, Aella became Darius' student… and took the name Eleanor which he gave her… Lady of Light. (SC, PRM)

Kae Dhun, finally free of Avalon traveled to Paris to kill Darius… but instead was killed by Eleanor who went mad in the face of her first quickening… and who then attempted to kill Darius. (PRM) Stopped by Phillip… she was taken away to the island of Niebos where Phillip and Methos worked with her to understand and control the power she'd inherited. (PRM, PH, SS) Darius hid the sword in a sacred spring where he'd buried the remains of the ancient Havron and later… Aja. (SS)

The sword remained at the spring until Eleanor claimed it and passed it on to Derrick… a boy she found who seems to carry some of Darius' old memories. (SC, PH, SS, ALH)

The above events not included in the chapters of this story, may be found in the following stories by this author.

1. **_Stolen Child_** (SC)

2. **_Crossroads of Time_** (CoT)

3. **_A Loaf of Bread, A Jug of Wine_** (LoBJoW)

4. **_Please Remember Me_** (PRM)

5. **_The Pilgrim Heart_** (PH)

6. **_The Shattered Soul_** (SS)

7. **_The Artist's Loving Hand_** (ALH)

#30#


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